


Breaking Falls

by EloquentSavage



Series: Breaking Falls [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Laura, Alternate Universe - Canon, Awesome Laura, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Cora Hale - Freeform, Emotional Roller Coaster, Erica Reyes - Freeform, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Isaac Lahey - Freeform, M/M, Memories of Laura Hale, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character- Victoria "Vic" Selure, POV Alternating, POV Derek, POV Stiles, Vernon Boyd - Freeform, scott McCall - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-08 16:09:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 134,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EloquentSavage/pseuds/EloquentSavage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As if Stiles was the only one of them with decades of baggage and a deep seated need to prove himself. Stiles had changed, he knew exactly what he wanted, and when it was time to take it. Even if he panicked at the last second like an asshole still.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Midnight City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER 1 SUMMARY 
> 
> Stiles and Derek accidentally run into each other.  
> They are assholes.  
> Then they aren't.  
> Then they get it on.

Usually he loved this time of day. Beacon Hills was beautiful at sunset in the summer time. He knew it was just air pollution and boredom that made it seem so fucking spectacular, but still, it felt weird to be watching this alone. His sneakers made almost no noise against the dry grass. It was yellowed, crispy, uncomfortable to sit on. Green patches of clover and other weeds swirled over the ground in front of him, still hanging on for dear life. The grass was always the first to go. 

He had been walking -- pacing actually -- for hours along the path. He needed to stop, but there was nothing, no one around to slow his momentum. He was pretty close to his Jeep, but the last thing in the world he wanted to do was to go home. He looked again at a large rock perched near the edge of the cliff, just off the path. He had stopped and stared at it a couple times, wondering if he should try to sit and rest. Peering dangerously over the edge of the cliff to distract himself, he took a few steps closer, still deliberating, when he saw what looked like faded letters on the backside of the rock.

The words were hard to make out, but once he figured out the first couple, he knew. This was a message from Scott to Allison. He had heard about this particular rock and it’s very particular importance as Scott endlessly hashed out the more painful parts of the last few months. It had taken a while, but he had finally been exhausted by the Be-A-Better-Scott-McCall-Program, which was mostly inspired by the absence of Allison. 

He hadn't seen anyone else in weeks either. There was nothing driving them together. School was out. Allison’s family finally contained Grandpa Asshole. It had been a few weeks since Boyd and Erica had slunk back to Derek, scared to death of the werewolves they met in the woods. One really good ass kicking and they were scared straight. At least he wasn’t the only one. He’d been keeping up, sort of, with whatever Scott told him. He tried sometimes, but he couldn’t make himself give a shit anymore. Maybe he just needed some time, or maybe he was just done. 

Usually he would be at the station right now, having dinner with his dad, but he wasn’t really welcome anymore. He had screwed that up, and he knew it. He hadn’t seen his dad in days, and that--more than anything else -- was fucking him up. Every time his Dad asked if he needed anything, if everything was okay, it was always the same answer. He was fine, busy, happy, don’t worry. Neither of them could change anything, or take any of it back, so what was the point of talking about it?

The sun slipped away, though he knew he still had about half an hour before it was completely dark. He couldn’t stay here all night, but he didn’t want to leave. He leaned back and closed his eyes, telling himself he would only stay for a few more minutes. 

****

Scents of the forest swirled all around him. Deer had been here not long ago. Vultures circled lazily, landing close by to pick something clean. He was looking for specific things as he patrolled his territory, people, anything out of the ordinary. He ran too fast, almost too hard, but he loved doing this. He pushed himself harder, the ground under his feet nothing but a blur.

He ran all the way out of the valley, took a long path around the bluff. Kids drove out there pretty often. He tried to make it out there most nights, just to make sure everything stayed quiet. He was running up the backside of the bluff, a few yards from the road, when he caught a familiar scent, Stiles. He saw the back of the Jeep parked on the side of the road, not in the parking lot. He stopped and took in the scents around the Jeep, trying to decide if there was something going on. He was surprised no one was with Stiles. He expected Scott to be here at least, especially after dark.

He didn’t really need to find Stiles, if he was out here alone, maybe he didn’t want to be found. A ball of anxiety formed in his gut as he lingered next to the driver side door. The jeep looked fine, but something felt wrong. He argued with himself, not really wanting to care, it was probably nothing. In the end his protective instinct was always stronger than his desire to be apathetic.

Stiles had taken a long and winding route through the woods and along the bluff that led him to a more secluded place than the lookout point everyone usually went to. He had come through hours ago. It was too dark outside for Stiles to see, he didn’t smell a fire, didn’t see any lights. He followed Stiles scent right to the edge of the cliff. 

Something intense had played out here. Stiles had paced, beating the ground flat, as if a hundred people walked across it in one day. He caught the lingering scent of too many emotions to make much sense of, but none of it was good. His mind went places quickly, scenarios and possibilities that worried him, but there were pieces missing in all of them. 

He took a deep breath and concentrated, listening for Stiles instead of thinking about him.   
It only took a moment for him to hone in on Stiles sleeping not too far away, he was fine, relatively. He shook his head, exasperated with the stupidity of falling asleep alone in the woods. It was ridiculous for him to worry about Stiles, but the worst case scenario tended to be more like average around here. 

The relief wore off as he realized he had a problem without a clear solution. Waking Stiles meant having to deal with his issues, his reasons for being out here in the first place. But, it wouldn't be right to leave him alone. He could imagine if the roles were reversed Stiles would wake him up and annoy him until he talked, or made a quick exit. Things had been much easier when Stiles was terrified of him. Not literally, but he understood it better. 

He approached cautiously and dropped himself down to the ground, sitting cross legged in front of Stiles. It was strange to see him like this. Oddly peaceful and silent. Stiles' face was usually an animated canvas of indignation and annoyance. He talked more than Derek liked. 

Curious, he leaned closer. Stiles was almost attractive like this. Like a sculpture you wanted to sit down and study, kinda like he was doing right now. He looked around, panic stricken with an absurd fear of being caught. He shook it off and rolled his eyes at his own dramatic reaction. No one was out here, he was being nice, not weird.

He hadn’t thought much about Stiles, especially lately, with everything so quiet. Everyone else thought about things like friends and having fun when things got quiet, but he had become hypervigilant, a sentinel protecting his territory. He was thankful he could at least do that, it kept him occupied. 

There was a time in his life when he didn’t know how to cope with the quiet. Stillness was something Laura taught them to avoid, always kept them moving. Especially those first years in the desert, before they settled down in Brooklyn. Laura almost always had the scent of emotional conflict hanging around her, the same as Stiles did now. His brain made the connection with Laura’s memory involuntarily, anxiety welled up inside him. He couldn’t let himself get that close to Laura yet. It was still too fresh. Sometimes he asked himself what she would tell him to do or say. He forced himself to listen to her voice in his head when shit got bad, only because he had relied on her for so long, he didn’t know any other way. 

The clear night sky caught up with him. Goosebumps covered his arms as a breeze picked up around him. Eventually it would be too cold for Stiles to stay out here. He would have to do something. He wished for Chloroform, or permission to knock him the fuck out, drive him home, and never acknowledge any of it. Laura would tell him to take care of Stiles, because Stiles would let him. He would say thank you, appreciate the effort, and think it made them friends. Laura would tell him to be nice to Stiles, because she would have loved him. 

The Jeep was close, he knew the keys were stashed in the wheel well. Stiles hid them there so they wouldn’t get lost in the woods. He couldn't remember when he had picked up that bit of trivia. He knew a lot about Stiles, more than he probably should. Like that Stiles had a blanket under his back seat that smelled vaguely of motor oil and dust. The keys were right where he expected them to be. He found what he wanted, closed the Jeep up, and replaced the keys. If he did this, there was no taking it back. Stiles would know he was here, he would know he did this because he gave a shit, and he would have to live with that. However it played out.

Stiles looked harmless curled up on the ground. He was partly convinced he was being tricked into this somehow, but he had known some version of this would play out when he decided to come up here. He resigned himself to the inevitability of answering to Stiles. He could be nice, decent, make things easier for both of them. It was less stressful than preparing himself for the intellectual strategy of how to avoid answering Stiles’ questions.

Not long ago he could imagine himself kicking Stiles awake, barking at him angrily to go home and never be this stupid again. He was kind of a dick. It was easier to be nice about it, though it helped that Stiles wasn’t awake to witness it. He stepped back and unceremoniously flung the blanket out, letting it catch the air and spread out before it settled over Stiles silently. 

He would never admit out loud that Stiles might be a part of his pack. He was a satellite of Scott, they were a package deal. He didn’t have Scott yet, but he knew it was inevitable. Stiles wasn't obligated to be there for Scott, or any of them, he chose to be there. No matter how much shit he gave Stiles, that choice to be loyal, self sacrificing, that was what ultimately earned his respect. His loyalty made him count. 

***

He was cold, even through the blanket. He pried open his heavy eyelids, and looked around with blurry eyes. He was outside, and it was completely dark. A rush of adrenaline filled him as he search his mind in confusion. He tried to lift himself off the ground. His knees disagreed with the upper half of his body and he fell backward, rolling to the ground, smacking himself against a rock. 

Trying again, he stepped on his own foot and tripped, swearing as his arms windmilled, searching for something to grab onto. A hand reached out and balled the front of his shirt in a fist. The adrenaline started working for him, instead of against him, and he remembered where he was. He became acutely aware of his proximity to the cliff behind him. He reached a hand out and clasped arms tightly with the person saving him. He recognized Derek’s voice saying his name. 

He righted himself and took a couple steps toward Derek, still unsure of his footing. In the pitch black he was walking on faith alone. His hand found Derek's shoulder and held on.

“C’mon, this way,” Derek said sharply.

The hand let go of the front of his t-shirt, he felt an arm wrap around his back, guiding him forward. His eyes adjusted, letting him see a little. He followed Derek to an outcropping of rocks close by. He dumped himself down on the closest rock when Derek stopped. A minute later Derek handed him the blanket he'd been sleeping under. He took it and stared at it, trying to figure out how he had gotten it in the first place. 

“Is this from my Jeep?” He asked.

“Yeah, it was getting cold.” Derek didn’t really explain. 

He watched the sillouette of Derek shuffle around the spot they were sitting. When Derek disappeared he wondered if he had just left, satisfied Stiles would die from falling or exposure, but then the sound of branches cracking went off like a gunshot. He wasn’t excited about the extra adrenaline, but he was glad Derek hadn’t left. 

A click sparked a flame, illuminating Derek with a thick silver lighter in his hands. The small flame turned into a fire on the ground in front of him. The small light illuminated Derek’s face and shoulders. For a moment he looked like the villain in a fairy tale. His dark, arched brows furrowing as he blew on the wood to help the fire grow. 

Manic, adrenaline driven energy rose out of his chest, his face cracked and he cackled involuntarily.

“Are you okay?” Derek asked, dropping the twig into the pile of wood.

This was surreal, the last thing he expected. He wasn’t trying to be an asshole. He looked at his hands, just to be sure he wasn’t dreaming. 

“The blowing, and you’re a wolf. Like, the big bad wolf.” He chuckled deeply, incapable of delivering the imagery with a straight face. 

Derek didn’t say anything as he sat down. He folded his hands and leaned over, elbows on his knees, more relaxed than Stiles had ever seen him.

“Yeah, that’s pretty funny,” Derek agreed, a shockingly wolf-like grin stretched over his face.

Nodding in agreement, he couldn’t look away from Derek. He just kept smiling, like it was a completely normal thing fr him to do. He felt too gross and tired for it to be a dream, he had counted his fingers, there had to be some legitimate reason Derek was here. 

“So... I fell asleep out here?” he asked, “and you found me?”

“Yeah,” Derek said easily. “I was out patrolling. I was almost done, so I just let you sleep...” Derek trailed off, looking into the woods like he was much more interested in what was out there. 

He knew it was much more likely Derek just didn’t want to answer him, which was comforting, more like the Derek he knew. He scrubbed his face with his hands, trying to wake himself up more. 

Were werewolves in a good mood on the new moon? It wasn’t the craziest theory. He looked up at the sky, searching for the moon. It was almost impossible to find, nothing but a thin smile in the sky. It mocked him, like it was in on the joke. He hunched over and shook his head, sure this was too weird to be genuine. He and Derek hadn’t spent a lot of time together, but the running theme was getting whatever they had to do over and done with as soon as possible. 

The emotional bullshit he had accumulated over the last few weeks caught up with him. He wasn’t sure if he was surprised by Derek being mildly pleasant, or he just didn’t want him to be nice. Either way, it didn’t make any difference. Derek Hale was not his friend. He would just go, and save himself the trouble of being disappointed when Derek pulled the bitch face back out.

As he talked himself into getting up and walking away, he realized he didn’t want to go, just in case it had nothing to do with the moon. Even if it did, maybe it was enough. He was setting himself up to be an asshole. He came up here with a pile of baggage balls deep, and no friends to distract him from it. Here one was, potentially, and he was about to throw a temper tantrum and walk away just because it could possibly be temporary. 

Temporary was fine, but he wanted to know, not be surprised later. He was too mentally exhausted to silently struggle with what he needed versus what he might already have. He decided to ask, because had nothing to lose. 

“Why are you being nice?” He spat at Derek, far more harshly than he intended, then scrambled to repair the damage. “I just, I’m sorry... it’s--”

Stiles felt his throat constricting, his nostrils flared and the tightness in his throat traveled to his eyes. He pressed his lips together to keep himself from speaking. He didn’t want to do this, but it was all about to come pouring out of him. He silently wished that Derek would just say something rude and piss him off, so he could run away without humiliating himself. 

He looked up at Derek and saw nothing but concern. He couldn’t hold back in the face of that kind of acceptance from Derek-Fucking-Hale. He was certain he would regret it, but he gutted himself anyhow.

“Scott’s gone, even when he’s there it’s all Allison. My Dad is at work all the time. Lydia has holed up in Jackson's house, probably sportfucking her way through summer. I have some shit going on, and I’m alone. So, don’t be nice to me, unless you actually fucking mean it.” His voice picked up courage as his conviction to protect himself caught momentum.

He wiped the tears off his face roughly and stared down at his sneakers. He couldn’t believe he had just said all that, to Derek of all people. Shame crept up his face, his neck and cheeks burning, red.

“It’s okay, I’m sorry everyone has been too busy with their own shit to give you some time.” Derek sounded like he meant it.

He couldn’t remember a time when Derek didn’t act like he was a pain in the ass. He looked up, watching Derek, half expecting to finally get the joke. Derek looked him in the eye, unflinching. 

“Are you serious?” he asked, pushing further.

Derek raised his eyebrows slightly and nodded, giving that as his only answer. 

“Why... are you being nice to me?” he asked, in a much less offensive tone. 

Derek sighed and rubbed his forehead, squeezing out his eyes like it might help him think better. He stared into the fire for a few moments before answering.

“Why shouldn’t I be? You’re an okay guy.” Derek took in a breath like he was going to keep talking, then held it for a moment. 

He hoped nothing really offensive or weird came out of Derek's mouth. He might be able to like Derek, if he didn't say anything stupid to ruin it.

“You’ve... come through, for everyone, even me, when I didn’t think you could. I appreciate that.” Derek’s statement was short, but it felt wordy, almost sentimental. 

They sat in the quiet, both of them staring at the fire. That wasn't the answer he was expecting. Maybe he should said thank you or something back, but he had taken a lot of shit in the past couple months, a lot of it from Derek. He also hadn’t been that loyal, not to Derek at least. 

Derek wouldn’t be saying any of this if other people were around. He wasn't sure if that made it less true, or more true. Derek was offering him some good will, that was obvious. He liked Derek when he was a beta, even wanted his approval, but the whole Alpha asshole thing was a lot more than he could tolerate most days. In a lot of ways they were complete opposites, and that made it hard to work together. The life and death shit wasn’t behind them yet. It might make things a lot easier for both of them if he knew a more friendly version of Derek.

This part of his reality was hard to accept. Stiles wanted to survive his best friend, as much as he wanted his best friend to survive being a werewolf.

“Thank you,” he said softly, Derek had heard him, but he didn’t say anything. "Can I ask you for something?" He was pushing the unspoken boundaries -- they both were -- knowing would make this a lot easier for both of them.

"Sure." Derek shrugged and tried to look unaffected, but Stiles watched his shoulders set with tension.

“Can you stop threatening me to get me to do what you want? I think things will go a lot smoother if we actually talk to each other.” He drew in a long breath, and slowly let it out. 

He was building some good will of his own, and he needed to hear a positive answer. He was about to give Derek a clean slate. He needed to know it wasn’t a mistake. Ultimately, he had always wanted Derek on his team, and not on a trial basis. He needed people he could count on. 

“I’m sorry if I scared you. At the time I didn’t think I had any other choice, but I never tried very hard with you.” Derek reached up and scratched his head awkwardly. 

Derek looked like he was searching for the right words, really making an effort. He had watched Derek make a sport of being an aloof, snarky asshole, hell bent on controlling everybody. He expected Derek to agree, not to admit he was wrong. He wasn’t sure what to say next anymore, he had been mostly prepared to argue his case. 

“I’m not sure-- I don’t know if I can promise that I will ask nice --” Derek started to say.

“No, no, no,” he quickly interrupted. “I don’t expect miracles man, just be less... terrifying.” 

Derek nodded in agreement with a crooked, apologetic smile. It was the kind of smile he never expected to see on Derek’s face. He laughed as he smiled back, considering how much he liked Derek’s face when he wasn’t threatening or angry.

Over the next couple of hours they talked, like regular people do. Derek asked him what had been going in his life and he answered truthfully. Derek responded for real, with opinions and complete sentences.The few times he and Derek had been stuck together Stiles had spearheaded the effort to make conversation, and spent most of the time talking to himself. This kind of progress was hard to go back from. He was going to miss this if it never happened again.

***

Miraculously, he was still making coherent conversation, and getting to know Stiles a lot better. He participated in the conversation because Laura would have wanted him to.She would have told him, ‘What would you want a friend to say to you Derek? We're all the same,’ and she meant it. He didn’t do it for himself though, he couldn’t imagine actually wanting to talk like this, but now that he was deep in it, he was enjoying himself. 

Stiles told him all about his mother and father, Scott and Allison. Stiles didn’t talk about Lydia, and he was glad. He wouldn’t know what to say about Lydia, knowing what he knew about her.   
He didn’t share his stories, and Stiles didn’t press. Stiles asked if Laura had a boyfriend. He said she had a girlfriend, in Oregon, and left it at that. Stiles smiled happily at whatever answer he was given, something he hadn’t expected from someone so curious. 

Stiles lifted himself up and stretched out, letting his blanket fall to ground behind him.

“Thanks Derek, this has been pretty fun.” Stiles walked around the fire and pushed at it a bit with his toe. He sat back down closer to Derek. “I know... I don’t expect you to be like this in front of the other guys, but I really needed this, so thanks.” 

He thought about the consequences of showing the others this part of himself. It would undermine everything he had worked for. The powerful, young werewolves were easier to control when they were working to prove themselves. 

“I can hang out with you, but you’re right, I can’t be like this in front of the pack, or Scott. If I get too friendly they’ll never respect me. It’s in their nature to test weakness,” he said. 

As the words left his mouth he let them sink in. He didn’t feel he was living up to the promises he had made to his pack. He wasn’t sure if he should share that, but he felt like he wanted to. He didn’t know if Stiles would really understand though. He was brave enough to stick around, knowing what they were, and smart enough to figure them out with deductive reasoning alone. Stiles might never understand pack dynamics, but Derek could at least try to explain.

“I can’t show any weakness. I have to show them I can be trusted. Keep them safe, and maintain control. I have to figure them out, know their strengths and weaknesses. Teach them how to protect themselves and each other. If I don’t teach them how to work together, none of us will survive.” He laid it out, his own expectations, what he knew he had to do for his pack.

He stared back into the fire, the weight of his statement hanging in the air, feeling more and more uncomfortable as the seconds ticked by. Stiles patted him on the back softly a couple of times. His hand lingered, his palm burning a warm spot in the center of Derek’s back that felt distracting.

“That’s fucking heavy dude...” Stiles’ hand slid across his back as he dropped it back in his lap, his fingers twisted around each other anxiously. “So, if that’s all you have to deal with, it should be pretty easy for us to be friends then.” Stiles wasn’t trying to be funny. There was no exasperated or playful edge to his voice, just dissapointment. 

He nodded, trying not to feel bitter. he could feel Stiles watching him, looking for a reaction, but he didn’t have one he could give. 

“I tell you what, you know how you snuck into my house that one time?” Stiles asked, turning toward him. 

“Yeah, that was...just--” he started, but Stiles cut him off. 

“No -- Here’s my suggestion. If you want to hang out like this again? Just come over. Window’s open, no need to make an event out of it.” Stiles gestured, his palms open, making the invitation genuine. “Though, I really would appreciate a text or something if you’re gonna drop by. I wouldn’t want you to walk in on anything you don’t want to be a part of,” Stiles laughed nervously, his face reddening.

He scowled, and shook his head in disbelief. He couldn't be crawling into Sheriff Stilinski's house for fun. The invitation felt good though. He smiled as he imagined scaling the outside of the garage again, just to fuck off and play video games with Stiles. 

“Anytime, huh?” Derek considered the state of his life, and what it would be like to have someone he could talk to, or even just listen to, hang out with, anytime. Honestly, that would change everything. His head spun at the ridiculousness of the suggestion, how much consideration he was putting into it, but the offer was alarmingly attractive. “Are you serious? I mean, not about the window... ” Derek asked quietly, the disbelief in his voice was thick, but honest.

“Yeah, of course!” Stiles exclaimed. “You and me, we’re going to be swimming in the same vast, ugly pool of shit. Pack dynamics, I get it. I’m on the outside, but in the know. I care about keeping my friends safe. As long as you’re doing that, we’re on the same page, friends and allies.” Stiles presented his rationale in a way that sounded naive, but true. 

The vast, ugly pool of shit was certainly theirs to share, authority figures and front doors be damned. He didn’t respond though, he was still mulling it over.

“You know, you’re included in that statement” Stiles added, his fingers twisting, dragging over each other again and again.

“What do you mean?” he asked, not following.

“You have to keep yourself safe too, if we’re going to be friends. It has to be a part of the deal. I really like your face, just the way it is.” Stiles gestured, smiling as his hands circled his face quickly and dropped back in his lap. 

He listened to Stiles’ words intently, let his brain wrap around the meaning as he played it over in his head. He slowly became aware of something that had crept into the conversation, something Stiles was talking about, but not saying directly. A sweet scent of attraction, something he rarely paid attention to anymore. It was working on his subconscious in a way that made everything Stiles said feel better, almost exciting, and more true. 

He leaned closer to Stiles, confirming his suspicions. Stiles stopped talking, blinked, obviously surprised. The look on his face probably spoke murder. Whatever he looked like it wasn’t friendly, or happy. 

“Um... Dude, I’m just saying I care if you die.” Stiles laughed nervously, too nervously. 

His eyes blazed red as he struggled with thoughts that fell between reciprocation, anger and bitterness. He had to walk away, now. 

“I have to go,” he stood up, pausing just long enough to ask himself if he should put out the fire, and walk Stiles to his Jeep, just in case. It was a mistake. It gave Stiles enough time to get right in his face, because Stiles was exactly that kind of stupid. 

“Wait a fucking minute!” Stiles caught him by the shoulder, took a good look at his face and dropped his hand, but didn’t take a step back. “What the fuck is this? You’ve been all nice to me and shit, I make a stupid joke and you’re going to take off?” Stiles challenged him. 

“Really, Stiles?! It was just a joke?” He instantly regretted taking the bait. He felt like an idiot arguing with some stupid kid in the middle of the woods about this with his eyes still blazing red. He could feel them, but he just couldn’t turn them the fuck off.

Stiles stared at him, his mouth slightly open, his challenging expression melted into a look of embarrassment. He didn’t expect Stiles to be embarrassed. The embarrassment was important. He concentrated on it, told himself Stiles hadn't expected to be caught. 

He had made a mistake, Stiles obviously knew how this worked, but teenagers were unpredictable. Anything could have set Stiles off, he could have been thinking about climbing into Lydia’s window or something. It probably had nothing to do with Derek. 

Normally he would have ignored the chemical information, as a matter of politeness and self preservation. Why had he said anything? Why the fuck would he even care? 

“Fucking wolves!” Stiles threw his arms in frustration. “You are really -- with the face, but you are an asshole. The whole... intense eyes and shit. It's really fucking hard to ignore. All that, all the time." Stiles sat back down, his hands holding his forehead. "Fuck this." 

Derek let the incoherence of Stiles outburst slide through his head. The words snaked around in his brain trying to make sense. He wanted to smile, but he also wanted to punch himself for entertaining any of it. Stiles had been his friend a few minutes ago, and if he had kept his mouth shut, he might have kept that friend. It felt like high school all over again.

He should have just kept his mouth shut. He learned to do that a very long time ago. So, why had he said anything? Stiles sat silently, swimming in shame. 

Stiles thought he was pretty, so fucking what? How did that change anything? It certainly wasn’t worth any of this nonsense. Derek shook his head, filled with guilt, he was such an asshole. 

“Stiles, I’m sorry,” he said, but Stiles didn’t react. “Stiles... C’mon.” 

Stiles looked up at him, his long neck moved slowly as he swallowed before he talked. “Thank you for not running away and leaving me out here alone, but I would at least like to sit here in silence, wallow in my shame, if that’s okay?” Stiles threw at him obnoxiously.

In the same position he would be mortified. He was impressed Stiles was still this snarky and defensive. Stiles dropped his head back in his hands. He was unsure what to do next. He sat back down next to Stiles, determined to put some sort of band aid on his mess. He had never successfully maneuvered anything like this before. 

Everytime he had ever used his preternatura senses to recognize attraction it had backfired horribly. Though the last time he had tried was his junior year of high school when all his efforts culminated in the girl he was pursuing packing up and leaving town. Before her there had been a boy, but the marginal effort he made to show attentiveness got him punched in the face, and abandoned right here on the bluff. He hadn’t caught on yet to the human issues with gender and attraction. He knew, but he thought he was exempt somehow. 

He rarely differentiated the people around him by gender, they were categorized in his mind by scent. Bad, Neutral, Good, Awesome, and Yes, Please. That was Laura's hierarchy, Peter thought it was hilarious. The girl had been incredible, the scent of her was dizzying, intoxicating. He had embarrassed her, and Peter scared her away trying to fix it before he had the chance to find out if it could mean anything.Then he met Kate Argent. His attraction to Kate had felt good. So good, he allowed all the warning signs to slide. There hadn’t been anyone since Kate, he couldn’t allow himself to be vulnerable like that again. 

Stiles would have kept his attraction a secret, probably forever, so he definitely didn’t have an agenda. Why hadn’t he keep his mouth shut? He had wanted to react, it was the only possible explination. Outrage was the first thing he reached for. The urge to recognize the attraction had overwhelmed his vigilant fear of the consequences, and that scared the fuck out of him. He really liked the way Stiles smelled, though he had never let himself admit it before. 

He had no idea why the fuck he was doing this to himself. He was confused, but there was a curiosity welling up inside him. Like a stupid little kid poking something with a stick. Stiles didn’t smell like attraction anymore, but he really wanted to sense it all again, to dissect the urgency and emotion he sensed before.

Maybe the intensity was a one time thing? What was the point in agonizing over something that was just an imagined moment? He liked that he sounded so rational. It was easier to hold on to when the rest of his mind was loudly disagreeing with the plan of action he was forming.

“It’s really late...” Stiles stood slowly, shuffled his feet then took a step away from the fire. They had sat in silence for too long while he existentially dismantled himself. Stiles was so uncomfortable it looked painful. 

He was fucking terrified of Stiles walking away, so scared his hands were shaking. That should have been enough, he should have stopped right there. Moved out of town, changed his name, but no, he was just that kind of stupid. 

He steeled himself and moved a step closer. Stiles looked at him sharply, obviously worried. Stiles stood his ground as he inched closer. He was invading Stiles' personal space with obvious intention, and Stiles hadn’t even flinched. They stood, almost nose to nose while he breathed deep and waited for the reaction he knew proximity would incite. The scent hit him like a truck, reverberating deep into his chest. He could feel his eyes burning red. 

All his brain wanted to do was soak itself in that scent. Memorize it, permanently imprint it on his brain. It was like moss, oak trees, limes, steak, cookies, and sex. All rolled up in one disastrous lungful of air. An involuntary shiver ran down his spine, straight into his groin. His mind was starting to wander toward good thoughts, things he wanted to do, right now. He drew in closer to Stiles, following his instinct blindly. 

Before he could stop himself, he reached out and pulled Stiles toward him. The sweet citrusy scent was devastating to all of higher functions. His chest tightened and a nervous sensation washed over his body. It culminated in his groin again, tightening his pants in an uncomfortable way. 

He should not be doing this. He drew himself back, his hands still firmly grasping Stiles' arms. He intended to apologize, walk away, bring all of this to the grinding halt it deserved, until he saw Stiles’ face; his head hung back loosely, lips parted slightly, like he was intoxicated and his neck wasn't quite agreeing to do it's job anymore. Heavy breaths made Stiles sway as Derek held him steady.

Stiles watched him with wide eyes, waiting, speechless. This felt kind of like making a basket from behind the three point line, or a roundhouse kick connecting with someone's face, only much, much better. 

He had forgotten that this was fun. 

He wrapped his hands around Stiles’ neck and jaw, pulling him close, his mouth settled into the pliant softness of Stiles’ lips. Desire flooded his brain, like he was drifting, breathless. He had stopped breathing. He remembered to let air slowly in and out of his nose as he kissed Stiles slowly, languishing in the newness and excitement, unwilling to break the connection until he absolutely had to. 

This might be the only chance he would ever have to do this, and he didn't want to stop. When he finally pulled back, Stiles was the one who was reluctant to let him go. Stiles was holding onto his neck and shoulders like a drowning man holding onto a life raft, he swayed in his tip toes, searching Derek’s face for a reason why they had stopped. He liked it, he wished he could somehow make this a good idea. Still, he didn’t protest when Stiles pulled him back in. It thrilled him, made his hands and tongue braver than he ever remembered them being. 

Stiles gasped when they finally agreed to come up for air.

“What the fuck was that?!” Stiles whispered breathlessly. “That was... awesome.”

He couldn't help but grin, far too pleased with himself. Stiles loosened his grip and stepped back. 

He watched Stiles closely, his expression was suddenly and unexpectedly serious. He wondered if he had done something wrong. He hadn't thought much beyond the excitement of the moment. Anxiety pooled in his gut. At that moment he realized, he couldn’t be the aggressor, for many reasons. He had to follow Stiles, let him choose where this was going. 

***

He was completely and totally fucked beyond the telling of it. 

Stiles could not even begin to fathom the depth of his fucked-ness. He didn’t know how he got here, or why in the hell someone like Derek Hale would even consider kissing him. 

It’s not like he thought it was a bad idea. It was an idea he had entertained many, many times, alone... in the shower. There was no reality where this thing was a possibility, but there the fuck it was. Derek Hale staring at him like he was hungry and Stiles was a steak. 

Was he stupid enough to freak out and act like an asshole? No, nope. He was slowly figuring out that he was actually mentally prepared for just about everything life could throw at him, as long as he kept his fucking mouth shut for long enough to think about it. There was no room to fuck around here, this was fucking spectacular, but it was still go time. He needed a plan of attack. He needed to figure out how both of them could win. 

There was this thing hanging over him like a fucking cartoon anvil about to crush him. He had to deal with it before he could do, or say anything else. That kiss had been amazing, mind altering. It was the best kiss he had ever had in his short and chaste life, but the entire time this nagging fear in the back of his mind kept derailing his thoughts when he got too into it. The overwhelming and distinct possibility he could suddenly find himself making out with really big, razor sharp teeth. 

Derek was a big bad of epic proportions, that wasn’t something a regular old, run of the mill human could forget easily. He needed to see the predator in the flesh, reconcile the idea of it with the reality of Derek in his head. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he freaked out at the wrong moment. He had a suspicion it might fuck Derek up completely. He had to know what he would do, how he would feel when he was face to face with it. He refused to let his life be ruined by the terrifying mysteries of werewolves, in any context.

Derek was standing there, waiting. He knew if he asked, he would get what he wanted. It was written all over Derek’s face. He’d seen it a hundred times before on Scott’s face, every time he talked about Allison. Derek would do anything, he was terrified of being rejected. Stiles couldn’t drag this out any longer, it wasn’t fair.

Derek’s eyes were human again, thankfully. He didn't know if he could ask, looking into red, glowing, preternatural eyes. Derek couldn’t hold his hand through this though. It wouldn’t work if it was about Derek making him feel comfortable, he had to deal with it on his own, and not be afraid. He had to be calm, in charge. This had to be on his terms, and it had to happen before all the euphoria from making out wore off, or he might talk himself out of it. 

He held Derek’s gaze for a moment, then stated his demand, “Change.” 

One single word presented simultaneously as a request, and an ultimatum, it was now or never.

Derek’s face shuddered and shifted, his neck cracked and twitched unnaturally as his chest and shoulders bulked, sloping forward slightly. His eyes flared to bright red. His teeth slowly filled his mouth, then crowded through his lips. His forehead and cheeks contorted and swelled, transforming his skull viciously. As suddenly as it began, the transformation was over. 

He expected to feel terror, revulsion, something negative to wrestle with. There was only curiosity, paired with an almost overwhelming level of adrenaline. The change was so violent and fast, it had to be painful, but Derek never flinched. He wanted permission to touch the Alpha werewolf in front of him. In his mind this wasn’t the Derek he knew, this was something different, something unpredictable and terrifying, like Peter had been. He needed to know Derek was in there, in complete control of this thing he had become. He needed to make himself do something, anything but stand there like an idiot with his mouth hanging open.

He forced his arm up, laying his open palm on Derek's chest. He felt different, not human, but not completely foreign either. There was too much heat, too much blood pumping under Derek’s skin. There was something like static electricity all around him, something that made all the hair stand up on Stiles’ hand. . 

As he took a step closer he could see the pulse jump in Derek’s neck. Slowly Stiles reached for the huge, clawed hand that hung loosely at Derek’s side. Derek watched him closely as he inspected the long black claws, bringing them right up to his face. The low light from the fire wasn’t really good enough to see, but this was less about science, and more about familiarity. He plied the base of Derek's claws anyways, testing them to see how they worked. 

There was no sign of disapproval or impatience from Derek. He stood silent, pliant and waiting for whatever came next. Stiles understood he had permission to be curious, Derek welcomed providing answers. It was a far cry from Derek’s usual enigmatic, man of mystery bullshit. Stiles was nervous, but he was going to test every part of this experience while he had the chance. 

With no clear place to start, no instruction manual he started with the hand he was holding. Stiles turned over Derek’s arm, taking in the ropy muscles and thick vascularity covering his arms and shoulders. His hand covered Derek’s chest again, feeling for a heartbeat. He leaned closer, and Derek’s heartbeat picked up enough to notice. Derek’s pupils were wide, blown out. He knew all of this already though, he wanted to see more. He bunched the hem of Derek’s shirt in his fist, and slowly slid his other hand into place. He pulled up, Derek's body following fluidly as he peeled off the shirt and dropped it on the ground. 

Derek’s anatomy wasn’t drastically changed like Peter’s. Derek had explained about the change reflecting what the person was inside. He still looked like Derek, but more, bigger and stronger than he had been as a Beta. He leaned in close to look at Derek’s long pointed ears. The thick cartilage was stiff and unmoving under his fingers. He ran his fingertips along the side of Derek’s jaw, where his hair thickened and covered his face. He took another step around Derek, facing his back. He traced the Triskele tattoo lightly with his fingertips. 

The muscles of his back and waist looked thinner, but it was an illusion created by Derek’s filled out shoulders. He felt the texture and density of the new muscle, tracing his fingers through the valleys and over Derek’s bicep as he came around to stand in front of Derek again. A low rumble emanated from Derek’s throat, his eyes were bright and vicious, his pupils pin points of focus. Derek’s jaw flexed and his lips curled back, revealing the full set of fangs. The rumbling gained in volume until a deafening roar twisted it’s way out, Derek’s vicious teeth snapped shut only inches from his face.

Stiles flinched and gasped. The reaction was instinctive, but he wasn't afraid. There was no adrenaline coursing through him. He felt like he should have been afraid, like a baser, more primitive fear was screaming at him from the back of his mind, telling him this was a terrible idea. Derek was probably testing his ability to resist that primitive instinct and trust him. He wasn’t sure if his reaction made him evolved, or just stupid. He reached out to touch Derek’s lips as they relaxed over his teeth. His fingertip traced over Derek’s lower lip, dragging across the only soft, forgiving flesh Derek owned in this form.

The red eyes smoldered like coals in his dark face as Stiles stepped toward him. His hands slid over Derek’s chest and shoulders, wrapping around his neck. He leaned in close, watching as Derek’s face tightened and changed. Derek wrapped his arms tightly around Stiles as the wolf pulled back into his body. This close he could hear Derek’s skull, feel his chest moving, transforming back to human. The wet popping, and cracking was the sound of something supernatural forcibly remodeling his body from the inside out, but the only thing Derek seemed interested in was him. 

The only question he had left was one of self control. He wanted to know if Derek would wait, or if he would take scent alone as consent. Stiles had to illicit a response, a calculated risk. He concentrated the warmth of Derek’s skin. Imagined what it would be like to move his hand down Derek’s chest, stopping on his stomach. He imagined sliding his hand down Derek’s pants, his fingers moving slowly across Derek’s skin to feel what was waiting there for him. Derek let out a low moan, his heart was racing in his chest. 

Derek was powerful and beautiful. He was dangerous, a killer, and Stiles wanted him. Stiles dragged him down to the ground, his hands grabbing at the back of his shirt ineffectively until Derek pulled it over his head. Their lips met again, but the kiss was different this time, urgent and visceral. He did what came instinctively, kissing Derek back with his whole body. 

***

He had held himself back, staying in complete control until Stiles made himself crystal clear. He knew they were both pent up, repressed. Neither of them had any agenda beyond pure, unadulterated physical attraction. He could trust that. He could enjoy it.

Stiles hands were pawing at the waistband of his jeans, but he was too distracted to be effective. He reached around Stiles’ waist and dragged his shorts off, then took off his. He pulled Stiles down on top of him. Stiles pinned him by the shoulders. They kissed each other savagely, grinding their hips together. The friction was heated, frantic. The tension built between them more quickly than he wanted it to.

Ultimately it was a search for release, for sanity. He was the first to climax, his body spasming silently as he held Stiles tight against him. Stiles pressed himself down, dragged his hips against Derek’s, groaning loudly with each thrust. His hand gripped Stiles’ ass adding to the pressure and friction. Stiles cried out loudly, as his cock spasmed against his stomach, adding to the large wet mess.

Stiles was held himself up still, his sweat dripping down onto Derek’s face and chest. He could smell each drop as it fell. The chemicals releasing into the air around him, overwhelming his olfactory senses like a slow drug.


	2. Echoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bat was 32 inches, light, a genuine Louisville Slugger, unfinished ash. Now it looked like something out of a zombie film. It wasn’t the greatest thing he had ever created, but considering it’s purpose, probably the most useful. Stiles tapped the bat on the concrete floor approvingly, the deck screws he had used instead of nails rang out, the tines vibrating loudly as they connected with the concrete.

Stiles ran down the hill, racing through the trees and underbrush faster than he should be. The predawn light illuminated the forest just enough to see where he was going. Halfway to the Jeep he heard Derek crashing through the woods behind him. 

He was so fucked. He had been screwing around, mouthing off and teasing Derek. He said things, stupid shit, pushing buttons because Derek has buttons and he couldn’t just leave them the fuck alone, then he had to go and get all cute, calling Derek sour wolf again. Derek wolfed out, started growling, and what did he do? He ran, because that shit is hilarious, unless your boyfriend is an apex predator. He could feel Derek behind him, like pin pricks running over his skin, fear churning in his stomach. 

He seriously needed to rethink his life choices. There was more than a little adrenaline and sleep deprivation mixed up in his poor decision making. Making fun of Derek that way was like poking a grizzly bear, but Derek was a lot more dangerous than a grizzly bear. He had deductive reasoning skills and knew where Stiles Jeep was. Derek was also way faster than him, and should have caught up by now. Stiles forced himself to slow his feet and assess his predicament. Derek was not Scott, Derek had more self control than anyone he had ever met, and he was just psyching himself out. He felt stupid, a little embarrassed for being actually scared for a second. His insides relaxed and he laughed at his own ridiculousness. He felt better, more awake than vigilant, he had run most of the adrenaline off. 

The unnerving silence all around him was proof Derek was close by. Even the birds were smart enough to not draw attention to themselves. He didn’t feel like he was being watched, but he mentally prepared himself for being tackled, just in case. He would never be able to live it down if he screamed or pissed himself. He forced himself to slow down the rest of the way to the Jeep, looking over his shoulder compulsively. 

The Jeep was right where he left it, just off the fork that ran under the bluff, a road patrols never bothered to go down. He leaned against the Jeep, still heaving from the strain of running faster than he should have. He pushed himself hard and he was paying for it. He leaned over and put his hands on his thighs, resting or a few seconds. It was weird that Derek wasn’t already here. He looked around again, down the road, up the road, he peered into the windows. Nothing. 

He went around to the drivers side and reached into the wheel well, searching the tire for his keys, but they weren’t there. Dread rolled through his stomach, he couldn’t remember if he put them on the tire like usual. He checked his pockets, then searched the ground around the Jeep, but still no keys.

When he stood back up, Derek was sitting in the passenger seat, nonchalantly staring at the road ahead. He said Derek’s name, but he didn’t respond. He was being fucked with, Derek was fucking with him, but he deserved it. He pulled on the drivers door, but it didn’t give. It was still locked. Resigned to playing along, he tapped on the window and asked to be let in. Derek looked over at him, eyebrows raised, attempting--but failing-- to look even a little innocent. Derek shook his head and shrugged, holding a hand up to his ear pretending he couldn’t hear what Stiles had said.. 

“Open the fucking door,” Stiles said, trying to give a good reaction. It was great watching Derek act like a dick, screwing around like a vaguely normal dude. He didn’t want to ruin it by acting like he felt, immensely proud. 

“Why should I?” Derek said through the window, his face stretching into a wide, playful grin. 

There was no good reason, if Derek was smart he'd just drive off alone, but they'd had way too much fun last night. Obviously neither of them were quite ready for it to be over. He tapped his finger against the door handle, trying to come up with the most obnoxious response he could think of to counter with. 

All he really wanted to do was leverage his way in by promising to suck Derek’s dick, but he wasn’t brave enough to go there, so he stepped back, pulled off his shirt, and held his hands up. He silently challenged Derek to deny having him wasn’t enough of a good reason all on it’s own. Derek’s face fell, he reached over and clicked open the lock. and pushed A loud, obnoxious creaking slowly sounded off as the door creeped open. He was surprised that worked so easily. He expected some sort of counter measure, but Derek sat silently in the passenger seat, looking straight forward, expressionless. His cheeks and the tips of his ears were an unmistakable shade of red. Stiles hadn’t won that round, he obliterated it, accidentally, but it still count. 

About halfway down the look out pass highway Derek recovered enough to speak. They had been driving along in a relatively comfortable silence while he marveled at his new superpowers. Hotness was not something he had ever considered that powerful, but obviously he had just been looking at it from the wrong side. Lydia’s ego driven insanity made so much more sense now. Derek pointed out an old farm house that used to be the main store of the avocado orchard they were driving by. He vaguely remembered playing with the dogs there when he was really young, but he didn’t say anything. He didn't trust himself enough to open his stupid mouth about life before the fire. 

“You alone today? Your dad at work?” Derek asked, picking Stiles shirt up off the floor and turning it over in his hands. .

“Yeah, he’s pulling doubles all week. He comes home to sleep, that’s about it.” He answered, trying to sound like he didn’t care. As soon as the words left his mouth he felt the same aching, lonely guilt that had been weighing on him for weeks. He didn’t want to go back to being alone all the time, but he wasn’t as upset about it as he had been before. It was going to take time for everyone else to figure out their own shit, the least he owed them was patience. 

“Lets go back to your place.” Derek said after a while. He looked over to see Derek’s face, but he was too busy intently picking lint off Stiles’ tee shirt. 

“You have better shit to do than hang out with me, I’m sure,” he laughed, shaking his head. 

“I’m not-- I mean if you don’t want--” Derek started. 

“No, no, that’s not it, I’m just-- yes, that sounds awesome. Breakfast, my place. I like this plan.” His hands vice gripped the steering wheel, like it might save him from the nervous floating feeling rising in his gut. 

There was no way he was ever getting used to this. 

***  
The Stilinski house was exactly the same. The picture windows and ever present scent of oranges and gun cleaner reminded him of Laura’s girlfriend’s house. It wasn’t something he wanted to think about, but it was far from a bad association.

The shower was really hot, even though Stiles had gone first. He leaned his forehead against the tile, letting the scalding water burn him as he thought about where he was, and what he was doing. It wasn’t the greatest idea he had ever had, but even in the harsh light of day all he could muster was the conviction that he should feel guilty, for some reason. He entertained some thoughts about legality, but his entire existence was an affront to the ‘law’. If he could muster the conviction to give a fuck. it wouldn’t be much of one. 

He didn’t want to tell himself no. He didn’t want to go back to the train yard, or the burned out husk of his parents house. Those places were where he went to hide, to survive, but today he wasn’t surviving. Today he was having fun. He imagined Laura, her eyes going wide as he told her what he’d done, and who with. Her laughter as she slapped him, punched him playfully in the chest. She would swear at him for choosing the Sheriff’s son, and she would ask him to be careful. She wouldn’t tell him not to, or explain why it was a bad idea. He was the cautious one, she would ask him if it was love, or just fun. 

The smell of food cooking dragged him out of his imagination, away from Laura. He turned off the shower and breathed deep, holding on to the reality of here and now. The guest towels hanging next to the sink were pink and yellow embroidered monstrosities. It struck him as an odd choice for the Stilinski’s. The whole bathroom was immaculate, no strange smells, nothing out of place. Everything from the fluffy yellow bath rug to the pink rose wall paper looked completely out of place in this house though. He hadn’t noticed it when he had come in, but now that he was standing in the middle of it with nothing better to do, he decided to be that guy and snoop a little. 

There were things on the window sill, like a miniature terrarium with a fern. Everything smelled faintly of bleach, even the trash can was clean. The Sheriff worked too much, and they didn’t have a maid. No one but The Sheriff, Stiles, and Scott had been in this house for a long time. 

The medicine cabinet was nearly empty. Adderall, prescribed to Stanislaw Stilinski. He paused for a moment over the name, Stiles real name. He coughed out a short laugh, and promised himself to use it only in case of emergency. The other two bottles of medicine were older, unused. He didn’t know the names, Olanzapine, Clonazepam. They sounded like junk people used to stop feeling, pharmaceutical concoctions that would never work on him. One razor, one bottle of cologne, one of everything. This was only Stiles' bathroom. The rest of the house was clean enough, but not like this, unless it was a focused compulsion, there had to be more to it. 

Towels in the linen closet were folded immaculately. A flowery, half circle shaped makeup bag caught his eye. It was mostly pink and yellow, just like the rest of the bathroom. The tiny plastic zipper opened almost silently. There was makeup inside. He pulled out the largest bottle. It was a skin colored liquid, the same very expensive brand Laura used. The substance had separated. The light pink oil was rancid, he could smell it through the closed lid. The same thing had happened to the tube of lip gloss. It was all really old, it hadn’t been touched in years. This was his mother’s bathroom.

The triple sized mirrors on the medicine cabinet, the soft round vanity lights, the skylight above that. She had used this bathroom instead of the master bath so she had better light to put on her makeup. He put everything back carefully. He thought of the apartment in Brooklyn, perfect and untouched, just as Laura had left it. He hadn’t been back there yet. If he still had his mother's things, he would probably treat them the same. 

Downstairs, the kitchen was already clean and food was piled on the table. He had taken too long in the shower, but Stiles didn’t say anything. 

“These are really good!” He said through a mouthful of breakfast burrito. 

“Be nice to me and I’ll feed you like this all the time” Stiles winked. It shouldn’t have been cute, it should have been annoying and a little weird.

“I don’t know if I can do that, but I’ll try to provide other incentives,” he promised. Stiles wasn’t really looking for niceness though. 

Stiles stopped chewing and stared at him.

“You know, I don’t know if I can handle you, like...flirting with me,” Stiles said. “It throws me off my game, dude. You say shit like that, and suddenly I am just a big stupid asshole with nothing cool to say.”

“Would it help if I said you were always a big, stupid asshole, with nothing cool to say?” He smiled back. 

“You’re hilarious,” Stiles said dryly. “You know, I am so-fucking-tired. Can we just go sleep? My bed is like magic, memory foam, awesome pillows.” Stiles offered, shrugging like he wasn’t sure his invitation would be accepted. 

Derek nodded, on the way over he wondered about this, about how it would play out. He felt comfortable here, safe. He could sleep here, happily. 

***

Stiles wanted to call his dad and check in, so he sent Derek up first. 

No surprise, Derek was sprawled out on his bed, already asleep when he finally made his way upstairs. He shook Derek’s arm to wake him, expecting some sort of struggle, but Derek shifted over without even opening his eyes. Stiles had never done this before, and he was weirdly nervous about it. He made himself the little spoon because he didn’t think he’d fit on the bed any other way. As soon as he stopped moving Derek pressed tightly against his back and neck, his arm tight around Stiles’ waist. 

The next thing he knew his alarm was going off. His Dad was coming home for lunch between shifts. He was excited because he really missed his dad, but the dread of getting caught sneaking around gave him pause. 

The huge werewolf sleeping his bed could turn into a problem. It was unlikely his Dad would come upstairs, and Derek knew how to extract himself. Still, he piled the down comforter up on top of Derek in a disheveled, fluffy sort of way. He pulled his pillow down and propped it up awkwardly. Unmade bed camouflage, looked sorta legit. 

He cooked breakfast for lunch, his dad’s favorite. They talked out his Dad’s plans for the week. He lied, saying he would probably go stay at Scott’s again, or Scott would come here. He had been telling his dad that for a while now, even though he had only seen Scott at the LaCrosse field with Isaac. He felt bad, but it was better than his dad worrying about things he had no way of fixing. 

After his Dad went back to work he made lunch for Derek, but he didn't want to wake him up. He watched Battlestar Galactica reruns on TV until Derek came shuffling downstairs. Derek Hale was decidedly not a morning person, his hair looked like it had been hit by a tornado. He walked with his eyes closed over to the couch and threw himself down. He wasn’t completely sure what to do with Derek’s head in his lap, so he laughed and patted him on the back awkwardly, missing any chance Derek had given him to be smooth.

“Holy crap, dude. Are you sure you weren’t drunk last night?!” he joked. 

Derek offered a monosyllabic grunt, then curled his arm around Stiles’ legs. After a few minutes Derek’s head popped up. “Do I smell tomato soup?“

“Yes, you do,” he answered. He shuffled out from beneath Derek and went to the kitchen to put on the grilled cheese. 

After lunch they talked for a couple hours, telling each other about school, sports, stupid shit they did with their friends. It was the most average, unremarkable time he had ever spent with Derek, and he loved every fucking second. 

It was hard to make himself be responsible, tell Derek he needed to get some stuff done before everything closed. When he asked Derek if he wanted to go along he didn’t expect him to say yes, and he didn’t expect Derek to look kind of excited about it. 

***

“I need to talk to Leo, only Leo.” Derek said to the obnoxious woman he couldn’t seem to get past. It was the third time he had called in as many days, and still no word from Leo, just this condescending, obnoxious assistant. 

“Honey, I told you, Leo is predisposed. I can help you if you tell me what you need, “ she said to him, far too sweetly. 

“Shelley, right? Leo has my accounts. I need things, an apartment, security system, I need it to be done a very specific way. I don’t think you can help me.” He only said as much as he felt he had to, to convince Shelley to connect him to Leo. 

“I have an entire database full of realtors, contractors and security providers I assure you can do any work you require. Why don’t you start by telling me who I’m talking to?” Shelley’s chipper, high pitched voice reminded him of a disney character. 

He sighed, having no idea what to do next if he couldn’t reach Leo. In a couple of days he and Stiles would be looking at a week together. A week they had spent being inseparable, mostly here at Stiles’ house. He couldn’t be here anymore, not like this. Leaving his scent all over town, leading right up to Stiles’ front door. 

“Shelley, I really need--” 

“Beacon Hills, Stilinski...The Sheriff? Is this Derek Hale?” Shelley’s voice raised in pitch as she cut him off. 

He seethed silently on his end, fucking hackers, of course. It had been plenty of time for her to trace the call. He had never stayed on the line long enough before. It must be why Leo always made Laura call from a landline. He didn’t know if he should hang up, walk away, or wait and see if his name got him anywhere. 

“Honey, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know it was you. Tell me exactly what you need. I promise you, we will take care of you. You shouldn’t be in Beacon Hills, did something happen? Are you okay?” The concern in her voice was genuine, she was actually worried about him. He was so caught off guard he didn’t know what to say. 

“Yes...” he said, shaking his head. “No, I’m fine. I’m friends with -- the Sheriff. I just don’t have a secure place to live.” 

“Okay, well... I can take care of that. Let’s start with the basics. I’m assuming you need to function outside of public information systems, in spite of your law enforcement affiliations?” Shelley asked, suddenly sounding very competent, not condescending at all. 

“Yes, I--” he stopped, still unsure if he could trust Shelley. 

“Okay, first, I need you to purchase a disposable smart phone. Your current model doesn’t support email. I see you have funds for that in your private account, but while I am in here would you like any additional funds released Mister Hale?” Shelley’s voice dropped in pitch again, and he could hear her fingers traveling over her keyboard at breakneck speeds. 

“Shelley, thank you, but I would like to know where Leo is. My sister Laura used to talk to him all the time,” he explained, hoping her new understanding would finally connect him directly to Leo. 

“I’m sorry Mister Hale, but Leo is away on family business with Victoria and their father. I would be more than happy to give you the number they can be reached at. I know Victoria would love to hear from you,” Shelley answered. 

“No -- no, thank you Shelley. I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” He was stuck with Shelley now, because the last thing he wanted to do was talk to Vic. “So... I think I’ll go buy that cell phone and call you back later.” 

“That sounds fine Mister Hale. In the mean time, I will procure you options for your living arrangements. I am texting you the number I will be communicating from.” Shelley perked up, sounding almost like she was excited to dive hunt. 

“Call me Derek, Thanks again.” 

“Yes! of course, Derek. I’m happy to help,” Shelley said brightly. She cut the call off on her end without saying goodbye. 

Stiles would be out of the shower soon. Derek didn’t want to buy a completely dysfunctional piece of electronics. He didn’t know a lot about smart phones, but Stiles did. He decided to wait, it wouldn’t hurt to have him there. A few minutes later Stiles came down and sat on the couch next to him. Derek explained vaguely that his phone was ancient, and he wanted a new one. He didn't want to lie, but Stiles was curious, and relentless. He couldn’t risk Stiles digging into his life away from Beacon Hills.

“You want to go to the mall, and buy a smartphone?” Stiles crooked his eyebrow, skeptical. 

“Yes... is that weird?” He was almost offended Stiles seemed so surprised, but Stiles was doing strange things with his wet hair and his fingers. Hair that was longer, messier, more distracting. 

“No, but the mall isn’t that great. We’ll go to the Buy More on Front Street. I’m just surprised? You don’t seem to want anything unless it’s absolutely necessary.” Stiles scrunched his face and continued messing with his hair. 

“You’re right, I want email and this thing won’t do that,” Derek answered truthfully. 

“What do you need email for?”

“Everyone needs email, Stiles.” 

“No, they don’t,” Stiles watched him with narrow eyes.

“Okay, I’m just making some plans--” 

“Plans? Is this about the other werewolves, they were Alphas, right? Because I’ve been doing some research. I think they were in Oregon for a while, and Arizona, but--”

“No, you need to stay as far away from the Alphas as possible. They are my problem, they don’t even need to know you exist.” He cut Stiles off emphatically, drawing a hard line. He didn’t know how Stiles had even gotten that information. His gut filled with dread, but he kept his face straight, calm. 

The curious expression on Stiles face bothered him, the look that meant he wasn’t going to leave it alone. 

“Just leave it alone. I mean it. I don’t want you anywhere near them, for your Dad’s safety, and Scott’s too. They want me, and only me. I’ll deal with it, it’s just politics,” he lied, trying to drive his point home. Anything he said was going to make it more attractive, but maybe, if he was lucky, Stiles would be cautious for the sake of everyone else. 

“Okay,” Stiles said, dropping his hands and grabbing his cell phone off the table. 

“Okay? Just like that?” Derek said, not believing him. 

“Yes, just like that. I’m going to drop it because I want to go to Buy More a lot more than I want to argue about werewolf bullshit. So, yes, let’s go be Americans. We’ll buy some overpriced electronics, get some pizza, maybe stop by the frozen yogurt place and get sugar high.” Stiles said as he walked toward the door. 

“...I’ve never been to the frozen yogurt place on Front, it’s new,” he said, taking the win. Mostly because he didn’t want to be an asshole, not because he actually believed Stiles was done with the subject. 

The Buy More was obnoxious, but the pizza place was worse. It smelled like dead things, he refused to eat there. They went to the Greek place instead, then to yogurt. 

“Yogurt and Fun, I’m skeptical,” he said as they pulled into a parking spot in front of the shop. 

The door slammed hard enough to shake the Camaro. Derek tightened his jaw, stopping himself before he yelled at Stiles like he normally would. He watched Stiles walk to the front door, he seemed anxious, his fingers drumming against his leg. Stiles turned around and ushered Derek to hurry in, he was smiling and waving his hand impatiently. Stiles waited for him at the open door, then walked in close behind him, smiling happily. 

The smartphone was easy enough to manage, just like Stiles promised. It had a big screen, and it explained itself succinctly as he set it up. Shelley had already sent him an email informing him that hotmail wasn’t secure enough for business. She created a different email for him and had sent a few housing options by the time Stiles sat down with his bucket of frozen yogurt and candy. Stiles was curious about all the time he was spending on his phone, but let it go in favor of eating. The reprieve was short lived though, as Stiles drew out the broken triskele of the Alpha pack on a napkin and tapped the table with his pen. 

“I can’t be around the Alphas. Me specifically, right?” Stiles asked, taking another bite of his sugarbomb. 

“No one but me should be dealing with the Alphas,” he answered, refusing to looking up from his phone. He couldn’t show any more interest, he hoped if he acted like he didn’t care, Stiles would be less interested.

“If they know about me, they’ll try to hurt me, or use me to get to you. Because you and I--. They aren’t just here to challenge your dominance or whatever, they want you to go with them.” Stiles said, shoving his spoon into his yogurt angrily. 

There wasn’t much he could say. Stiles had unraveled the whole thing on his own, somehow. He hadn’t thought about it when they had started doing whatever this was. It had only been a few days, but it felt like a lot longer. Somewhere along the line he realized that he had made Stiles a target, and he couldn’t take it back. He didn’t say anything, he couldn’t bring himself to tell Stiles, he just pretended he could handle it on his own. 

“So, when did you know that you were making me Alpha bait? Before or after you fucked me? Is this one last hurrah before you join up, or were you planning on going out like a hero? Suicide by Alpha.” Stiles poked at his yogurt, not being quiet or discreet. 

“Jesus christ, Stiles, it’s not like that and you know it.” he hissed, instantly pissed off Stiles would announce something like that in the middle of a shop downtown. “I’m sorry. I’m fixing it. That’s what the phone is about, don’t worry.”

“Don’t worry! Okay, right, cool. A smartphone, that obviously fixes everything,” Stiles said too loudly again. The panicked edge to his voice was real, it stopped Derek cold. 

The tremor in Stiles hand demanded his full attention. The overwhelming stench anxiety rolled off Stiles in waves, hitting him like a wall of palpable panic. He reached out and took Stiles hand, the spoon clanging against the table loudly as Stiles dropped it. The Alpha energy snarled and snapped in his head, unraveling like molten lava spilling out of his chest. It was angry Stiles was hurting, because he was angry Stiles was hurting. He reached out, filtering the energy into Stiles’ hand, connecting with his nervous system. It drew out the anxiety like a wick, pulling the excess directly into it’s hot, red core. 

Surprise bloomed over Stiles’ face, his shoulders dropped and his arms fell loosely to the table as he took a deep breath. Derek pulled the arm of his leather jacket down over their fingers, hiding the blue, pulsating veins that travelled slowly over his hand. He could feel Stiles’ energy as it moved under his skin. It was wild and alive, but it was different. The hot, molten power that constantly gnawed at his insides, scratching and crying to be let loose was quiet, stilled. He felt powerful, but relaxed and satiated. 

The calmness was unshakable as he explored the connection between them. It felt vast and endless, as if Stiles had no barriers, no walls up to stop him. What made up Stiles was a warm white glow, it was clear and unmistakable, like a picture being shown to him inside his head. Stiles shivered, bringing Derek’s attention back. 

“The air conditioning is really cold in here.” Stiles said quietly, he picked up his spoon and hovered over his yogurt. “The sugar doesn’t help the anxiety,” he said, his voice softly falling in defeat. 

“Then stop eating it, lets go home,” he whispered. 

They left, still holding hands because Stiles wouldn’t let go. He had to put Stiles in the car, opening the door for him, then crouching in the doorway to help put his seatbelt on. 

“Are you going to be okay?” he asked, more worried than he let himself show. 

“Yes, but when we get back... I can’t just sit around waiting for things to happen. You’re going to tell me everything you know, and you’re going to show me how to fight one of you because-- because if you don’t...I’ll go to the Argents, I don’t want to, but I will.” Stiles looked down at his hands, knowing what he was saying, what it would mean. 

“No, you don’t have to. I’m sorry. I’ll tell you--teach you anything.” He reached out to take Stiles hand. Stiles reached past him and grabbed on to the door, pulling it closed sharply, barely giving him time to get out of the way. 

He watched Stiles, still subdued by the relaxed, content feeling inside his chest. He saw Stiles more clearly, the angry scowl that was really fear and mistrust. He understood it was his fault, he should have been honest, this wasn’t something a person kept from someone they loved. 

The best he could do was be honest now, and try to keep Stiles safe. 

***

He was throwing a temper tantrum, an honest to god freak out in the face of insurmountable power. There was no difference whatsoever between the little kid kicking his feet, screaming, snot dripping down his face as his mom drags him away from the candy aisle, and Stiles Stilinski, choosing angry silence because Derek didn’t tell him everything, again. Derek’s phone kept going off, buzzing in the cupholder. He wanted to know what was going on, He wanted to know so badly he could barely contain himself, but he was determined to bitterly hold on to his silence until the last possible moment. He didn’t care how stupid it was.

“Maybe it would be better...If you went to Chris and Allison,” Derek said quietly, his eyes fixed on the road ahead of him. 

There was no way he was doing that if he didn’t absolutely have to. Allison had lost her mind, and Derek couldn’t even say their last name without clenching his jaw. And now he had to fucking talk, because if he didn’t, he was the asshole. 

“If you refuse to, I will. I don’t want to. It’s not better. I fucking hate their codes and shit, it’s a pile of crazy to hide the bodies behind,” he spat out, meaning every word. “I’d rather learn from you.” he added softly, finally relenting his anger. 

“You didn’t want Scott to learn from me,” Derek said. 

“Scott is too trusting, he doesn’t ask the right questions,” annoyed Derek would even bring Scott into it. 

“You’re too young to be doing this.” 

There was a rawness in Derek’s voice that he should have responded to, but the anger was still too close to the surface. It fueled his outrage and sliced open the truth as it all came pouring out. 

“Fuck you, what the fuck do you even know about it? You grew up in a vacuum, with people you could trust. Everyone in your family was just as powerful as you are, you were completely protected. You probably thought you were fucking invincible. Do I seem that fucking naive to you?” he yelled, instantly regretting every word the second they dropped from his lips. 

Derek slowed the car down and pulled over. 

“You’re right, that’s exactly how it was.” Derek admitted openly, he didn’t apologize, or get angry, he just stared at his steering wheel.

All of the anger slid out of him like he was deflating, not because Derek was the guy whose family burned to death -- like his number was higher on the charts of pain -- but because he didn’t deny it. He admitted Stiles was right, and he was just sitting there, waiting to pay for his mistake. 

“Stop trying to make my decisions for me, you don’t know better than I do just because you have a few years on me.” 

“Okay,” Derek agreed quietly, still looking at his steering wheel. He was being weird, not himself. He was keeping his shit together. 

“Can you -- just drive, please.” Stiles slumped back in his chair, silent the rest of the drive. 

The silence was a far cry from how their morning had started, but this morning he didn't know about the symbol painted on the door of the Hale house, this morning he hadn’t put it all together. If his dad hadn’t asked him about taggers, gang graffiti around town at breakfast, he might not have put it together. Derek might have dragged him along through it, never telling him what was going on. 

When they got back Derek went to make mysterious phone calls. Stiles pulled up and printed off instructions he had saved a while back, when he had been trying to figure out how to protect himself from Peter. He went to the garage and gathered the things he needed, then waited for Derek. When Derek came in he had the instructions pinned up on the cork board, and all of the supplies laid out. Derek crossed his arms tightly, reading then re-reading them. 

“This,” Derek said pointing at the instructions, surprised. “This is what you want? For you?” 

“I’m going to do this, whether you like it or not.”  
“I think you should do it, I’m just surprised this is what you came up with. ‘Scientific Principles of Improvised Warfare’... That is -- It’s perfect.” Derek said, nodding his head absently while he looked over the papers again. 

“Why is it such a good idea?” he asked. 

“You picked it, you know why,” Derek looked over at him and shrugged, but continued. “The way this is built, you don’t need a lot of strength to use it. I would not want to get hit with this, even now, it would be devastating. If it was covered in wolfsbane, it could be as deadly as one of Argent’s bullets.” 

“That’s what I was thinking, with a regular baseball bat it’s about bludgeoning, but with this it’s more about evisceration.” He nodded, pleased with himself. 

“Plus you’ll look scary as fuck carrying that thing around. The only real problem is if it gets taken away from you, but you have that problem with any weapon, even a long range weapon like a bow or a gun.” Derek added. 

“If I’m further away than the range of this thing, I plan on running,” he said honestly. 

“That’s a good plan,” Derek agreed. “You want me to make this for you, right now?” 

Derek walked over to the workbench and started rifling through the pile of tools and supplies. 

“I was going to make it, but if you know what you’re doing...” he trailed off, still kind of surprised Derek was completely on board. 

“I’d rather do it. I don’t make mistakes, and if I do, I heal faster.” Derek claimed pragmatism, but he turned the vice grip like he knew what he was doing. 

Stiles handed him the bat and pulled up a stool to watch Derek work. 

***

The bat was 32 inches, light, a genuine Louisville Slugger, unfinished ash. Now it looked like something out of a zombie film. It wasn’t the greatest thing he had ever created, but considering it’s purpose, probably the most useful. Stiles tapped the bat on the concrete floor approvingly, the deck screws he had used instead of nails rang out, the tines vibrating loudly as they connected with the concrete. 

“Do you need to practice using it? You have a regular bat over there.” Derek pointed to the shelf where a smaller, black handled bat was. 

“No, I’m pretty good with one of these. I get it. I’m not hitting baseballs, all I have to do is make contact, anywhere. As long as I still have it, I can always swing again.” Stiles sounded confident, and everything he said was tactically true.

He knew he was being too gracious about this, too accommodating, but it wasn’t going to do either of them any good for him to treat Stiles like he wasn’t an equal. Stiles would never see any combat, not if he could help it. There would always be something else to do, strategy, research. Actual help they all needed. This made Stiles feel better, calm, in control of his own well-being. He knew how valuable that was when you were in danger. 

He watched Stiles move, cutting the bat through the air like a weapon, not a toy. He tried to look at the bigger picture, but in that moment he felt like he was giving Stiles permission to become someone he wouldn’t recognize in a few years. Though, Derek honestly didn’t know if he would live that long, so maybe it was better if Stiles could actually take care of himself. 

“Stiles,” he said softly, hesitating, trying to talk himself out of what he was going to do next. He didn’t know if it would work, or how Stiles being different would be a part of it. He made his mind skip over the idea that Stiles was different again, pushing it aside as paranoia. 

Fighting the compulsion to try, to test the possibilities, had worn him down. It wasn’t a choice, not anymore. He had made up his mind in the car, when Stiles had talked about the Argent’s, and their code. Internal momentum pushed his feet, forced him to take a step forward. His breath felt like fire in his lungs as the world slowed around him. He was in some twisted fairy tale where the monster was the one waiting to be rescued. He prepared himself for contact, for the rush of power he knew was waiting under Stiles’ skin. If he could make the connection, he had to, he owed it to Stiles, and his pack. He couldn’t make himself say it out loud. He couldn’t make himself ask permission like he should, he couldn’t fail Stiles like that if he wasn’t able to make it work. 

Stiles turned toward him, his bright, whiskey colored eyes were devastating. Without letting himself look, or think about it anymore, he pulled Stiles toward him, taking the bat away and putting it on the bench. The power gnawed beneath the surface of his skin, his neck twitched and pulsed as he barely contained the Alpha. He felt like a man hanging by the tips of his fingers, about to fall into nothing. There was no turning back now. Stiles arms wrapped around his neck, his fingers threading through Derek’s hair. 

He concentrated on the feeling of Stiles, the small spaces where their skin touched. The energy inside him poured to those spots, seeping effortlessly into Stiles. He could feel the vast, endless white, warm and cold at the same time. He could feel love, happiness, excitement. The ideas flashed across his mind so loud and clear, unmistakably from Stiles. He lingered on Stiles’ slow, steady heartbeat. He pushed the searing, red Alpha energy to the edge of all the things that made Stiles real. In his mind he saw the connection fuse between them, pulsating, intense with a need that reached out for him, searching for the connection. He relaxed, letting the bond complete on it’s own, he felt Stiles’ breath hitch in his throat and he knew it had worked. 

Nervousness flooded his body, his hands shook as he let Stiles go. He watched closely, waiting for Stiles to notice, knowing he should say something, anything. Stiles smiled, said something that he didn’t understand, he sounded like he was under water. Stiles let him go and walked out the back door of the garage. 

The impulses that crept over his mind were all Stiles. Everything about Stiles was overpowering his senses, he was loud as he walked, but quiet and far away as he talked. Derek must have done something wrong. A dull ringing sounded off in his head as the impression began to deteriorate into chaos. He reached out for one thing, the strongest feeling, how pleased Stiles was. As he concentrated, the rest of the impression quieted, slowed. He could pick out the most important things, filter the impulses and push them aside. 

Derek’s chest was warm, he felt the skin over his heart. The preternatural pounding, hard and insistent in his chest was spiraling out of sync with the rest of him. Instead of a faint impression like the rest of the pack, the volume of Stiles was like a pounding wave echoing infinitely. The raw power he had unintentionally filtered off of Stiles was more than he could contain, his heart swelled and seized as the thumping reached a lurching, breakneck speed. He clenched his jaw against the pain of his failing heart. He buckled and dug into his own chest as the pain bloomed over his arm, up his jaw and deep into his head. He felt his ribs break under his fingers. His body healed as fast as it was damaged, wasting the excess energy like running down a battery. 

The bench behind him cracked under his grip. The noise was like an anchor, a warning. He couldn’t be found like this. He called on everything he had to pull the impression of Stiles closed, putting it away, into a dark corner. He held it there behind the ever present wolf, disciplined and unbreakable. He shuddered against the pressure he felt along the edge of the impression. He would have to find out what this meant later, maybe it was a manifestation of his fear, or maybe it had something to do with the two of them being together. 

Whatever it was could wait. 

*** 

Derek’s mysterious phone calls were to someone named Shelley, who sounded like a real estate agent. He figured Derek was buying a new place. The calls had been coming in for a few days now, and every time Derek got off the phone he was in a good mood, at the very least it meant his plans were working out. 

The GPS tracker blipped across his screen as Derek drove across town. He left about an hour ago with a stupid grin on his face. Stiles knew something was up, so he dropped the phone into Derek’s car as they hugged goodbye. He knew he was being a shit, but Derek knew what he was getting into when he stuck around. 

The blip stopped moving outside of the old industrial district. He would bet money on a renovated loft, predictable. He plugged the coordinates into the search engine and came up with an old machine factory, then a cached real estate listing. Nice view, open floor plan, balcony. It looked like something out of a James Bond film, exactly what Derek would choose. He grabbed his laptop and pillow before throwing his bag over his shoulder and heading out the door. 

***

‘Can you meet me in parking lot? 5113 E Washington,’ he sent the text to Stiles. 

He was excited, this was exactly what he wanted. He loved the spiral staircase, the wall of windows. All of the furniture was just what he asked for. Shelley had done an amazing job. He walked over to the center beam below the master bedroom and pulled the fire extinguisher off the wall. He hung Stiles’ bat on the hook and took a step back. It looked like it belonged there well enough. 

A knock rang out on the sliding door just before it moved, grinding slowly as Stiles opened it. He rushed over pushing it open the rest of the way for him. 

“What the hell Stiles? How are you--” he started to ask, but he already knew the answer. 

“I’m smart, whoa... what the heck? Is this your place? This is awesome!” Stiles walked in, pillow and bag in hand. Stiles dropped his things on the day bed in the corner before making a round of the place 

“You have GPS in my car don’t you?” he asked. 

“Maybe, do you care?” Stiles asked, too busy climbing the staircase to look at him. 

“No, not really,” he answered honestly. He was in too good of a mood to argue about it anyways. He didn’t care if Stiles knew where he was. “You brought your pillow, does that mean you’re staying?” 

“Yes! What the fuck is this even?” Stiles yelled from upstairs. He hadn’t even been up there yet. “Is this your bed? This looks like it came out of the catalogue for colorblind living.” 

He snickered, knowing he had asked for a lot of grey, but he liked grey. 

“If you don’t like it, you can fix it,” he said as he eyed the support beam closest to him. 

The pipes that ran along the beam reverberated loudly as he sunk his claws into the ancient hardwood. The fourteen foot climb to the second floor was entirely experimental, he had to know if it could be done safely, and it was fun to watch Stiles face as he hung over the rail above him. He put his claws away as he gripped the steel pipe railing and pulled himself up to sit next to Stiles. 

“Those are really nice stairs, it’s a shame not to use them.” Stiles quipped, leaning back on the rail next to him. 

“I won’t need them if we just stay up here the rest of our lives,” he replied. He launched himself off the railing and made his way toward the bedroom. 

The room was a little too grey, but it felt subdued and safe, he loved it. Stiles walked to the end of the bed and looked around the room, waiting. Derek pulled his wallet out, his keys and dropped them on the floor. He kicked off his shoes and pulled his shirt over his head. Stiles watched, amused, but didn’t say anything. He pushed Stiles back on the bed. He shrugged and nodded in approval. 

“I think that breaks up the grey pretty well,” he said, pleased with himself. “What do you think?” 

Stiles rolled his eyes, then started undoing his belt buckle. “I think you should shut the fuck up, because you aren’t nearly as clever as you think you are.” 

There was something about Stiles being an asshole that drove him fucking crazy. He wanted to grind him into the bed until he couldn’t remember how to be sarcastic. The belt buckle clanged loudly as it hit the floor, he watched Stiles peel his shirt off, then the rest of his clothes. Stiles leaned back on his elbows and stared him down, a smug snarl curling his upper lip. 

“You need to come down here and finish what you started.” Stiles narrowed his eyes accusingly. 

“Maybe I’m right where I want to be,” he was being an arrogant fuck, but Stiles deserved it. 

All he wanted was to get down on his knees and give Stiles exactly what he needed, but he couldn’t make it easy when Stiles acted like such a dick. He felt a twinge of triumph when Stiles broke first and reached up to undo his pants his pants, his long fingers moving quickly over his belt and zipper. When he stepped out of his jeans Stiles reached out and pulled on his arm, throwing him off balance. Rather than save himself, he chose to land painfully on his knees in front of the bed. 

There was no time to protest, or play any more games. Stiles was all over him, hands and fingers trailed over his neck and shoulders, lips and tongue invaded his mouth. Stiles dragged his nails over the widest part of his back. He responded with a low groan, stretching his back against the pain. 

***

Derek let his head fall back into Stiles hand as his lips moved over Derek’s jaw. The rough stubble dragged against his teeth as he tested Derek’s skin. His lips traveled lower, over Derek’s neck. His teeth pinched flesh tightly. The pressure and pain incited a gasp from Derek that seamlessly transformed into a low rumble. Derek's hand came up and held him by the back of the neck. He was unsure if the hand was there as caution, or encouragement, but he didn’t care.

A bit more pressure and he would break skin, the coppery taste of Derek’s blood would fill his mouth, maybe turning his teeth an offending shade of pink. He could feel the hard bulge through Derek’s jeans, confirmation he was enjoying himself still. He sucked and bit down hard, feeling muscles seize under him as skin broke. A few drops of blood burned his tongue as Derek pulled his face back roughly. 

He was nothing more than a rag doll in a vice grip for a moment, as Derek held him by the hair. He let go, and cupped the side of Stiles’ face. Derek dragged his thumb over Stiles' teeth, pushing his lower lip to the side roughly. His thumb came away with a pink stain. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Derek demanded, confused and surprised. 

He grabbed Derek’s face and shoulder, roughly pulling his jaw to the side, exposing the already healed skin on his neck. 

“I can’t hurt you, and you can’t hurt me,” he whispered. Derek relaxed under him and let his hands fall loosely to Stiles’ hips.

He wanted this, he wanted Derek, soft and pliant beneath him. The Big Bad, the scariest thing in the dark -- all red eyes, teeth, and claws -- all his to provoke and push back. He grazed his lips across Derek's, letting his tongue slide softly against his. 

Any power play between them was dictated entirely by Derek, if he would play along, pretend there was any reality in which Stiles was somehow more powerful. Anger boiled up inside him, fueling his already overwhelming desire. A strange, powerful sensation snaked through his shoulders and arms, wrapping tight and warm around his neck. His chest felt tight, but the anxiety he expected never came. 

Stiles leaned into Derek, his fingers gripping everywhere, his nails and teeth cutting a trail of damage over Derek’s skin that healed as soon as it was inflicted. Derek moaned and begged under him, giving himself over completely. Stiles felt the moment Derek gave in, a sweet satisfied pleasure bloomed over his chest. He slowed down to take in Derek’s soft eyes and parted lips. The way his breath stopped and gasped as they moved together. 

He couldn’t hold back as Derek moaned and held his breath, going rigid under him as his pleasure climaxed. He followed, his teeth clenched tightly as he groaned into Derek’s neck. He fell against Derek, momentarily spent. He could feel the wild, insatiable energy spinning in his chest again, demanding attention. His eyebrows knitted together as he considered how strange he felt, how good it was. Before he could open his mouth to speak, hands gripped him tightly and he was suddenly face down underneath Derek. 

He opened his mouth to complain but Derek’s hands stopped him. They slid roughly over his slick, sweat covered back, gripping and pulling as Derek worked him back up. Shameless, explicit words came pouring out of him as he told Derek what to do, and how to do it. Derek growled and pushed him into the mattress roughly as his instructions fell off in favor of guttural, half deranged noises. 

Hours later his legs hung loosely, half off the bed. He was naked, thirsty and covered in more bodily fluids than he was comfortable thinking about. Derek snored quietly next to him, the space between them intentional as they cooled down. He finally gave in to the exhaustion that slowly creeped over his brain, pulling the sheet over himself and Derek just enough to keep the encroaching cold from waking them up later.


	3. Like Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Boyd, Stiles talked in fifty cent words, dramatizing the sexiness of the biology, chemistry and philosophy of their wolvelihood, he called it. With Isaac he kept his voice low, he never criticized, he imparted facts and ideas in uncomplicated snippets, only building further once the last thing was understood. Many times he would pull the introverted young man into a corner and huddle like they did in LaCrosse practice. Stiles would wrap a protective arm around his shoulders and manhandle him in some playful fashion after talking.

He woke up slowly, languidly, the compelling scent of Stiles permeated everything around him. He was stretched out like a lion, his arm wrapped around Stiles' waist loosely. It was like waking up in a cocoon of bliss. He floated in it drowsily, refusing to open his eyes until the last possible moment.

He heard stirring in the room, it took him a moment of contemplation to realize the sound was not coming from sleeping Stiles. He pried open one eye reluctantly, his hearing searching the room for the source of the offense. Then he heard it, an extra heartbeat. He could feel the other werewolf in the room as his senses became acute in full consciousness.

Peter...

He knew him by energy, aura, smell, whatever it was that assured his brain that his uncle was the only superfluous presence in the room, also gave him permission to ignore him. Peter was leaning against the wall behind him, looming, like a creep. He let a long exasperated breath out of his nose. He pulled the covers up over his head, dealing with the monster the way Stiles might. He smiled to himself, his good mood flooding back as he owned his impetuousness.

" Now, now, dear nephew, I'll have none of that. No boys in the bedroom with the door shut." Peter goaded him, whispering.

" Fuck off, Peter." He responded, also whispering.

"Oh please! Is that any way to treat someone who loves you so unconditionally?" Peter's sarcasm was thick, but the sentiment was true. Peter was absolutely insane, but he did love him in his own distorted way, and Derek loved him back, because he felt like he had to.

"Fuck...off..." He hissed, punctuating the last half of the statement.

"All right, okay, I'll leave you to your pederastic sodomy. Who am I to stand in the way of sin?" Peter got up and started to walk away, he could imagine the sick grin on Peter's face. 

There were things Peter could sass him about, and things he knew he had to make clear were off limits. He reached over to the bedside table and retrieved a quarter he had emptied from his pocket the night before. He squeezed it between his fingers and snapped it toward Peter before he rounded the corner, out of sight. 

Blindly Peter snatched it out of the air before it hit him in the side of the head. He grimaced and brought the palm of his hand to his face dramatically. He fished the quarter from in between the bones of his hand. The sound was loud and gruesome as it bounced off the high ceilings in the mostly empty room.

The quarter hung between Peter’s fingers like a dead bug, He dropped it on the floor, utilizing an appropriate amount of panache, for Peter at least.

" I will never regret anything else, more, than I regret teaching you that... Dear nephew." Peter drawled out. He flopped back down in bed, satisfied he would not be loomed over again post coitus. 

A few minutes later he heard his refrigerator being opened, and his cupboards. If Peter was looking for breakfast he was shit out of luck. They hadn't gone shopping, they hadn't left bed since last night. 

Stiles stirred, Derek felt him beginning to wake up. All he wanted at this moment was for Peter to leave. His uncle was even better at sensing emotion and intention than he was, and right on cue he heard Peter slam a cupboard door, loud enough to wake Stiles, and piss off Derek. 

The bed rolled as Stiles shot up, the noise startling him out of his half sleep. He looked around, bewildered. As he became fully conscious he relaxed and sighed heavily. He started to tell Stiles that Peter was here, but he choked, nothing came out. 

He was holding onto some half baked hope that Peter would leave, maybe go get himself breakfast. Stiles swung his legs out of bed and stood, stretching, nude. He started across the floor. 

"Stiles, I--" Derek started. 

"Yeah, yeah... I know, no soap, no towels, it's fine. I just want to rinse off before I put clothes on. Man, last night, yeeeaaahhh." Stiles talked and yawned right over him, not hearing his warning about Peter, still functioning on partial sleep brain, in his own world. 

"Peter is downstairs...Seriously, Stiles, Peter is here." But Stiles had obviously heard what he wanted, completely tuning him out, or maybe he didn't care. He was unsure at this point, it was the only reason he didn't tackle Stiles before he walked out.

Through the clanking sound of Stiles feet on the cast iron spiral stairs, he listened intently, ready to intervene if he needed. Stiles was padding across the main floor, headed toward the shower when he heard a very ladylike shriek, running, then a slamming door. Only Peter and Stiles in tandem could inspire this level of exasperation... And things had been going so well.

Peter came through the entryway and leaned against the jagged brick edge. The maniacal grin plastered to his face made him look like a caricature of himself. 

"I can see why you went there, who knew _that_ was hiding under all those layers of flannel and sarcasm." Peter laughed, genuinely amused. "Lucky for you age of consent laws mean nothing to a 16 year old in love, so I guess Sheriff Padre will just have to kill you if he wants you to stop buggering his son?" Peter laughed heartily at his expense, he walked away talking to himself, intermittently breaking out into fits of laughter.

Stiles was pissed, he could feel the rage rolling off him in waves from across the loft. 

It was about more than being embarrassed, and Derek had a feeling the morning was going downhill, fast. 

***

_Peter Hale... Peter Hale is in the loft, and there is nothing I can do about it._

_Nothing... Nothing..._

Stiles was frozen in place, adrenaline coursing through his veins, trapped against the door of the bathroom. His body was so tense he felt like he was nailed down. Anchored down by his own fight or flight response, he pounded his head against the solid wood, the pain felt like clarity, his rage felt like purpose. 

He disconnected from the door with a violent lunge, willing himself to move, to take action. He righted himself awkwardly, his movements jerky, uncontrolled, and started pacing. He was shaking violently, he felt so incredibly cold. His muscles were stiff with tension, he was filled with rage that was beyond anything he’d ever experienced before. 

Peter had bitten Scott, Lydia, threatened him, then systematically tortured and manipulated Lydia to the brink of insanity, he used Lydia with the intention to kill Derek. Jesus, all the things he had done to Derek, those thoughts sent him over the brink, Stiles wanted him to die. 

_Why the fuck is he here? Is this some Adderall induced nightmare?_

The smallest thought came creeping in, through the rage, a memory. There was something he’d been working on, something that mattered right now. It took a moment for his brain to grasp it through his biological responses, but there it was. 

Like a flash of lightning he decided upon a course of action. He thought about it for the smallest fleeting of a second then concentrated on one step at a time. He wouldn't allow his mind to linger on anything that might give him away. 

_First step, loosen up, focus, concentrate...calm, open bathroom door. Next walk to composite bat, done. Pick it up, done. Walk to the table. Walk straight over to it. Peter, who was hunched over something at the end of the kitchen table was only a coincidence. Table. Table. Table. Slam Peter in the head as hard as he can with composite bat..._

Peter fell to a clump on the ground. He had turned and raised his hand to deflect the blow he had heard coming, but in his arrogance he didn't duck, or turn to see the weapon in Stiles hands before he swung it. It had landed in his head, through a couple fingers. The screw spikes were lodged deeply, squarely between his ear and temple. 

He stood over Peter, he let himself feel. He let the satisfaction pour out of him in hot waves of relief, calming his murderous rage. Best of all, he let himself gloat. He had an idea, and it worked, spectacularly. 

Peter was trying to get up. He was convulsing slightly, his movements jerky, but his intention was obvious. His perforated brain wasn't sending signals correctly. As long as the spikes were in his head, he couldn’t heal. Stiles planted his foot firmly on Peters back. He pulled, but the bat didn’t come free. He leaned over and pried it out of Peter's skull, the cracking and popping of wet bone echoed in the loft. He held the bat at eye level, above Peter’s head. He inspected it as he wallowed in the sheer joy of finally being able to throw down some pain on the bastard. 

A figured loomed in the corner of his eye...Derek. He didn’t stop Stiles, or intervene. In the smallest moment it took him to realize he wasn’t going to be stopped by Derek, he was filled with the deep and overwhelming urge to kill Peter again, this time with an audience. 

The bat whizzed through the air as he swung it high over his head, following through the arc, letting the weapon catch maximum velocity. His next blow struck Peter square in the back, between his shoulder blades. Stiles dislodged the spiked monstrosity in his hands and brought it back down on Peter again. The composite bat skewered him like a toothpick through cheese. It was so easy, the adrenaline probably helped quite a bit, but still. Three devastating blows to his opponent and he didn’t even feel it. He wasn't even remotely taxed. 

_I could do this all fucking day!_

By the time his fourth blow sunk in, Derek was there, arms around his chest, pulling him off Peter. Derek was making some noise about needing Peter, and telling him it was okay. 

"Stop!! I’m gonna kill that fucker!!" He screamed at Derek. He was no match for the long supernatural arms crushing him though. He fought back ineffectively, his moment of domination destroyed by his innate helplessness under Derek’s suppression. He finally relented, still screaming. He slumped to a dead weight and threw his bat to the floor. 

The blood pooled in the spikes and wire wrapping sprayed gloriously, like fireworks, splattering everything within a 20 foot radius. He could hear the metal on concrete ringing like music, as it bounced and spun before rolling to a stop, the remnants of it's first trophy dripping to the floor. 

Derek hiked him up in his arms roughly and walked into the bathroom. He set him down against the wall, insisting that he lean up against the cool concrete. Derek turned on the water quickly, barely testing the temperature. He looked over to the mirror, he was covered in blood. So much blood. 

This time was different, he had his own blood, Scott's blood, Lydia's blood all over him before, but this blood was a fucking prize. He stood up straighter and wiped the blood from his forehead down his face like war paint. He locked eyes with the brutal demon in the mirror, and was met with a visceral thrill that radiated through his chest and down into his bones. He felt powerful...

Before he had a chance to fully commune with his inner murderer he was pulled under cold running water. Derek turned him under the water, then turned him again, letting the shower pull tiny chunks of Peter off of him as it washed away the evidence of the attempted murder. 

Attempted... wouldn’t work though, not on Peter. He would heal, and now Peter might just want to kill him back. 

Truthfully, he didn’t care. Let him try. He had imagined all the ways the Alphas could maim and destroy him, before killing him. Peter was a ridiculous clown of a man, compared to the idea of the Alphas in his mind. 

He didn’t realize he was pinned against the wall, struggling to get free again, staring at the bathroom door with a single minded rage to do as much harm to Peter as possible. He wrenched himself against the nameless force holding him back. Like a feral dog, he struggled viciously. He didn’t realize it at all, not until Derek screamed his name. 

The trance was broken, when he turned to look at Derek and saw the alarm. He looked down and clasped the wrist of the hand holding his chest. He watched the blood slide down the both of them, swirling like a beautiful red hurricane, through the water and slipping down, into the drain. 

As the savage trance dissipated, he clung to the shreds of his self awareness. The most prominent were the discomforts. He was cold, shivering, naked, and still covered in blood around the edges. The coppery, ocean like smell of blood lingered in the air. He wondered if his face was still caked the way he left it. The disgust percolated in his gut, nausea washed over him. He reached up and scrubbed water over his face vigorously, hoping to eliminate any trace of Peter left there. 

The trance broken, Derek leaned back, letting go of him. The pressure alleviated on his chest and arm made him feel momentarily weightless. He sucked in a deep gasping breath, burning his throat. Derek didn’t move from where he stood, he loomed protectively. 

Another shiver ran over him, reminding him to continue purging Peter from his skin. He turned the water warmer, letting it flow over him like a purifying fountain. It cascaded down his body, washing away the filth Peter had left behind. 

The thoughts in his mind normalized along with his body. He had brutally attacked Derek’s uncle. Derek had obviously reconciled with Peter in some way. He had not liked it, but when Peter was on the other end of a text message or a research phone call, he hadn’t seemed real. How would Derek judge his actions? He couldn’t imagine, but the insecurity crept in, tapping on the outside of his mind until he took action to get rid of it. 

He turned back to Derek, he hadn’t moved. He met him face to face, eye to eye. Challenging him to say anything, to give away even a hint of blame. He wasn’t sorry for what he’d done, but he didn’t know what to do if Derek wanted him to be. There was no disapproval, no objection in his face. Derek looked harrowed, concerned even. Derek looked like he wanted to use his words, but he was too animalistic to hear them. 

Derek probably thought he was losing his goddamned mind. Wasn't he? All the shit he'd done in the last couple of days? Wasn't this exactly like losing one's mind? 

“I’m sorry.” Stiles spoke up impulsively. He was sorry for causing Derek discomfort, for fucking up his new apartment, for being insane and putting him in the position of dealing with him. Regardless of why Derek thought he was apologizing, his words had the desired effect. Derek looked relieved instantly, he let his breath out his nose, his shoulders fell as the tension left them. 

“It’s okay, I did the same thing.” Derek stated flatly. His posture changed drastically, his eyes drooped and he took a couple of deep breaths. Derek leaned toward him again, wrapped an arm around his back and brought his mouth down on his forehead. 

He felt confused by the contact, his mind wasn’t in a place where kisses felt like a good thing, but he accepted it. The adrenaline had evacuated his body, and the exertion of the fight had left him feeling rubbery and uncoordinated. The warmth of the water was taking away all of the bad shit, and left nothing behind to keep him on his feet. He leaned into Derek and let his head fall into his neck. He let himself go slack, like a rag doll, having complete faith in the arms that surrounded him. 

***

The water was going cold on them. The blood was gone, but the smell lingered, strongest in Stiles hair. There was no soap in the house yet, They needed to fix that. He felt Peter leave, he knew that Peter had a little bit of a clue now, boundaries had been set and understood. He was thankful Peter was taking the higher road. He knew there would probably be some retribution later, but for now Peter hadn’t been angry, just incredibly surprised and annoyed most likely. The attack had ruined his clothes, his haircut, and his beloved leather jacket. 

He walked out of the bathroom first with the intention of maybe cleaning or covering some of the mess before Stiles came out. There was absolutely nothing to clean the huge ugly mess up with. He hadn’t thought of things like that yesterday. He bought a sandwich press. That ridiculous piece of shit was sitting on the counter. He honestly thought it was really cool at the time, but he failed to buy towels, or even a broom. The crew he had in here had cleaned a lot, but they had taken all of their supplies with them when they left. 

Derek saw a bloody piece of paper sitting on the kitchen table. A pool of blood and a trail of drops were gathered around it like Peter had stood over it for a while before he healed completely. He walked over and snatched it up before Stiles could see it. He scrutinized it, barely believing what he had in his hands. 

It was a fucking shopping list... Peter’s long elegant script flowed down the page, detailing all the item’s necessary for a working kitchen and bathroom, then abruptly the word bleach was cut off, the remaining letters in the word we’re a strangled version of Peter’s writing. The rest of the list morphed from nearly illegible chicken scratch, back to his practiced penmanship at the end. The last item on the list was _“more bleach”_ an obvious commentary on what he would need to clean up the hideous mess that surrounded him. 

He stared at the list in disbelief, he couldn’t underestimate Peter, or predict his behavior. That made him incredibly dangerous. He was glad Stiles had taken a chunk out of the cocky sociopath. It would, at the very least, instil in Peter that Stiles was also unpredictable, and not afraid of him. As much as the idea of retribution against Stiles bothered him, he knew his uncle was capable of damaging anyone he felt was necessary to facilitate whatever goal he had. Whatever way he felt he needed to. 

If Stiles found his way into Peter’s crosshairs, there wasn’t much he thought he could do to remove him, but in the meantime it was better if Peter left Stiles alone, for both their sakes. He looked at the blood splatters covering his walls, the pool of gruesomeness seeping into his concrete floor. 

He was pretty sure Stiles had made his feelings abundantly clear...

Stiles came back to the kitchen, he was dressed, borrowing one of his Henleys. He was wearing his shoes without socks. Derek guessed he had no underwear on either. Stiles took notice of his inspection and smoothed the shirt over his chest. His shirt looked good on Stiles, really good. It wasn’t so much the shirt as the intimacy of Stiles wearing his clothes. He felt a smile creeping up on his face. This was the kind of thing he believed would always be stuck in some dark part of his imagination. The extra toothbrush, the borrowed clothes, sharing a shower. Now it seemed like it might be a part of his everyday life.

As Stiles gingerly walked through the blood spatter over to him, he noted: the really good parts of this new life seemed to be finding a way to work around all the regularly scheduled bullshit. No matter how much he doubted it would work out, they just kept doing what they always did. They rolled with the punches, they kept going. 

“You like? I’m permanently borrowing this--What’s that?” Stiles snatched the blood spattered paper from his fingers. He was still stuck, wondering if he should use the well thought out grocery list, or if he should just make his own. Stiles studied the list, and nodded in approval. 

“Yeeeaaah, looks good to me. I’m just going to go over here and add some things to Uncle Lecter’s fancy ass list, and we can be on our way.” Stiles said. His sarcasm was dripping with hate. He picked up his composite bat and shoved the list in his back pocket. Stiles approval had, sort of, saved him the trouble of writing a new list. He hurried to get dressed and get out of here. He wanted to clean this up before it dried completely. 

He heard Stiles rinsing his bat off, he could hear the metal spines, the clipped off screws reverberating as something caught on them, scrubbing them off. He felt a little like he should be worried for Stiles, this was a lot of violence. The kind of thing he shouldn’t be letting someone he cared for do, but it was Stiles... 

He stopped, his keys hanging in his hand. He stood frozen, caught in this sinking thought. Why did this all seem okay? He just pulled Stiles off Peter after he perforated him like a pincushion. 

He knew Stiles had rage and damage in him, just like he did, but he and Stiles were drastically different people. He had used the most deadly weapon he had at his disposal, his fists, to beat the shit out of Peter, probably for the same reasons Stiles had. 

Wasn’t this supposed to be different for him though? He was a werewolf, internally tied to the lunar cycles, an instinctual connection to his animalistic side was always present. Something supernatural drove his rage to the brink of insanity when pushed hard enough. Wolves were less predictable, more understandably violent, but humans...

Was this a teenaged human male thing? The animal instinct being the closest to the surface at this age? Or was it more? He looked back on Stiles behavior, the choices he knew of, and the assumptions he had made about how he had come to be in such places. He remembered Stiles dropping him in the pool. He bristled remembering the hopelessness, the betrayal he felt. He also justified Stiles actions because of what he had said to him, the position he put Stiles in at that moment. 

_"Okay, so that's why I've been holding you up the past two hours?"_  
 _"Yeah. You don't trust me. I don't trust you. But you need me to survive which is why you're not letting me go."_ He didn’t trust anyone then, he barely trusted Isaac and Scott, now Stiles, but why? Was it all instinctual? Had he really been given a reason to think that Stiles would be loyal to him, or was he just wishing hopefully, coveting what Scott had with him. Was he thinking Stiles’ attraction to him was the only way he had to rope him in? 

His own thoughts sickened him. He hadn’t really thought any of this through, he hadn’t asked himself why he wanted it, he just let himself wallow in the mire of his deep instinctual attraction. The self loathing he associated with Kate came flooding back the surface. He looked around him, the loft, the forward movement. Maybe it was all a huge mistake. Maybe this was the worst decision he had ever made, instead of being some sort of new path to redemption. 

Stupidly, impulsively, like always, he had imprinted on Stiles. Right there in the hallway of his fathers house. Without permission, without thinking through the consequences. Had he been looking to yet another sociopath for guidance, for absolution? If Stiles was the mistake, who was going to forgive him, redeem him for this? 

He felt panic creeping up into his face, sending chills down his spine, making him feel sick to his stomach. He could smell the blood downstairs and hear the water going in the bathroom still as Stiles manicured his composite bat. He crumpled into a pile against the wall near the bed. His guts were on fire. He wanted to flee. Just jump down the rail and run across the floor to the elevator, or better yet, right out the window. His panicked mind grasped at the idea, but rejected it quickly. 

He pressed his fingers to his eyes, digging deep, causing pain. He could feel the wolf inside him growling for permission to solve all his problems in a way that wasn’t solving, as much as destroying. He took in a deep breath and let it out his nose slowly. 

This was always how he did things, having conversations with the people he cared for in his own head, until he convinced himself that everything was wrong; He couldn’t move forward _with_ them, he couldn’t trust them. Conversations that he sometimes felt were more real than the things that were actually said by the people around him. 

He wondered if he was crazy, or if this was just another coping mechanism Stiles could explain to him. Was this something that other people went through? he had no idea. He felt like it was time to ask someone, but he didn’t know who. 

Stiles moved around downstairs and called to him. He got up and decided he should keep this crisis of sanity to himself for this moment and just make it through the next few hours. Maybe somewhere in the day something would contribute a little to life making more sense. He hoped, but he knew if he really wanted it, he would have to start the conversation himself. That wasn't something he was willing to do right now. 

They maneuvered their way through the day without actual incident. The Stiles snarkfest was turned to eleven. Nothing got past the judgmental commentary, but Stiles managed to stay relatively civil. He contributed how focused Stiles was on completing the mission: Stock Derek’s Loft, to avoidance of the morning’s trauma. 

Stiles had much more experience with domesticity than he did, so he deferred most of the decision making. He didn’t have much preference when it came to things like what brand of paper towels he used, or the color of the dish soap. 

On the drive back to the loft, with Stiles Jeep filled to capacity, they pulled over to the side of the road. Derek had a moment of Deja Vu, was Stiles going to threaten to throw his werewolf ass out on the street? Maybe... 

“Okay so I want to talk about his morning, can we do that?” Stiles presented, without the sarcasm or bitterness that had permeated his actions all morning. He felt the familiar sickening nervousness wash over him, he did not _want_ to talk, but he knew he should. 

“Yeah, go ahead.” He offered noncommittally. 

“Look I know I made with the seriously homicidal this morning, but I want some things to be clear here, okay?” Stiles spoke to him emphatically, his hands making the other half of his argument. It was comforting to see his spastic weirdness floating on the surface of his personality again. He nodded his approval for Stiles to continue. He wanted to hear the rest of this, it was what he had wanted all day, but couldn’t bring himself to ask for. 

“So, here’s the thing. Peter is a murderous asshole. I don’t know why you let him stick around--except maybe because he is useful, and he’s all with the _’You can’t make me die’_ thing-- he is some serious bad news. He will use you, he will take from you, he will destroy you if it works for him. I know he is your family, maybe all you have left in the world, but I don’t know if I can handle him being around you. I know he is going to hurt you, he will hurt all of us in ways we have only heard about in insane German fairy tales, but you...” Stiles looked down, his tirade peaking with emotion. “You he could hurt the most, especially if you are really relying on him for information” 

He let all of the words sink in, he had thought all of these things himself, he had also thought about what he would do to Peter if he hurt Stiles, or Scott, any of them. The picture was far worse than what Stiles had done. 

“I’ve been really fucked up, I’ve been scared and ecstatic, terrified then orgasmic, murderous... I don’t know what I am doing, but I know this morning wasn’t about me trying to murder your uncle. I just want you to know--I knew... I couldn’t kill him, even though I wanted to try really hard...I just wanted to take back some control over my life, take a little back for team human, ya’ know?” Stiles looked exasperated, he looked away and chewed on his thumbnail compulsively. He mulled over what he could say back, but all of it was still settling into his brain, like balm over an open wound. 

He understood all of that, it was fucking crazy, but it was an insane response to an equally insane situation. He pondered saying that, but wondered if telling Stiles his response was insane would make things better or worse. 

“I want to protect you...” Stiles said quietly, into his hand, like he knew how crazy it sounded. Stiles turned back, looking determined. “I’m sorry for getting blood all over your new loft. I’m sorry for letting go of you in the pool, I’m sorry for leaving you with Kate Argent when I kinda knew you had Scott’s phone, I am kinda sorry for going along with Scott’s murderer bullshit. I’m--I’m so sorry for what I did to Laura...” Stiles steeped in guilt, leaned over on the steering wheel. 

He listened to his confession, all of which he already knew, had already forgiven him for. He wasn’t sure where the forgiveness really came from. That he knew he might do that same thing, or because he had done some seriously terrible shit to Stiles, Scott, Isaac, Erica, and Boyd, all in the name of accomplishing shit that didn't work out. Maybe it was because he didn’t think he had done anything to deserve any better from anyone in any of those situations, let alone Stiles. Maybe it was because Stiles was an almost undecipherable combination of self centered desperation, and vicious loyalty. He was so terrified of losing anyone he loved he would do whatever it took-- 

There it was, the last piece of the puzzle.

He saw clearly, exactly what he had been afraid of. Peter was willing to do whatever it took to get what he wanted, revenge, attention, it was all a mess with him. Stiles was willing to do whatever it took to keep his family safe, adopted or otherwise. Both situations created highly unpredictable behavior he had a hard time understanding. He understood the motivation though, and that changed everything. He couldn’t rely on his ability to anticipate Stiles’ actions, but he could rely on his motivations; those were crystal clear, and completely reasonable to a person who had lost everyone they ever cared for. 

The executive decisions Stiles was capable of making felt so far away from his grasp. He was never sure like that, he felt like he was walking on a tightrope all the time, and one wrong move would bring it all crashing down. 

He made wrong moves all the time though, and things crashed down, but life kept on happening. He felt at that moment that maybe his biggest problem was that he kept anticipating the day that it didn’t. The day life stopped happening for him, all the danger finally caught up to him. It hadn’t happened yet because he was also willing to do what it took to stay alive and keep fighting, he just didn’t have the confidence or conviction to own it like Stiles did. He always hoped at the last minute he wouldn’t have to do the very terrible thing that he was facing. 

He didn't think Stiles way was so much better, but it wasn’t evil. 

There really was so much good in him. His motivations were noble, even if they were also selfish. He loved so fiercely, and he wanted to keep everyone he loved safe. He felt fortunate to be inside the boundary now, inside the high walls that kept everyone else out. Inside were those that were loved, outside was everyone else. Being bound to him now this way felt like a suffocating restraint in some ways, but he wanted it, he needed it.

He reached out and grabbed Stiles hand, he clutched it firmly then interlaced Stiles fingers with his own. He leaned back in his seat and thought about how to answer. 

“You can’t undo any of it. What’s done is done.” He said hopefully, his own burden of confession weighing heavily upon him. “I’m not going to think about any of that anymore, not because it doesn’t matter, because it’s all different now. We’re playing by a new set of rules.” 

“What are those rules exactly?” Stiles asked flatly. He didn’t have an answer. 

“I’m not sure, but I know I spend a lot of my time feeling like I am making one bad choice after another.” He was letting himself stew in his own bullshit. Stiles loosened his grip on his fingers, but he didn’t let go. He looked down at his lap, obviously thinking he was one of those bad choices. 

“That’s not what I meant, I mean like this morning. I could have stopped you, but I...” He trailed off, he didn’t know how to explain why he didn’t stop Stiles. In a way he felt like he had failed to protect him; in another he wanted Stiles to know, not just feel, but know that he could protect himself. He wanted to say he was proud of Stiles, what he did was astonishing. He didn’t know how he would take it, so he didn’t say it outloud. 

“Okay.” Stiles stated, taking his own understanding from what he had said. Satisfied that he didn’t think Stiles was a lunatic, and maybe choosing to not push anything else right now, just in case. Stiles put the Jeep back in drive and gave his hand a squeeze before letting go for his steering wheel. 

Back at the loft they cleaned up in relative silence. The work was ugly, but unavoidable they worked intensely and quickly, removing all traces of Peter’s blood to Derek’s approval. He took all the used supplies, the bleach rags and blood soaked paper towels, and burned them in a trash can out in the loading dock. He used kerosene to fuel the fire, burning it all down as quickly and cleanly as possible. It had the added benefit of smelling like barbeque, just in case anyone was around to notice. 

When he came back in Stiles had invited Isaac and Scott over to hang out. His mind darkened, like it did every time he thought of Scott, remembering Gerard. That night in the warehouse... He shook it off, just like every time he had thought of it since that day. He would look forward to the company. It would be the first time he and Scott would actually be spending time together, without a significant purpose since that night. This would not be not be passing information; this would be a good place to start building a better relationship with him, maybe. 

He shook off his lingering malaise and devoted himself to being Alpha again in his mind. He went out to the floor of the loft and did as many pushups as he could handle. He did some slow controlled vertical crunches off an exposed pipe hanging from the ceiling. He felt the promising fatigue and invigoration, the exercise helped focus him. He was in charge, it wasn't a hope, it was a fact. 

Stiles prepped a bunch of sandwiches to go in the grill, he intended to feed everyone. It was a novel idea, having people over for a meal. To Stiles it was second nature, something he did because he knew things, like that if friends were stuffed full of food they were happy. 

When Stiles was done prepping he cleaned up and screwed around with the computer finally. He was hungry and he wanted to use the sandwich maker. He thought maybe he should wait until everyone else got there to dig in, but Stiles waved him on when he asked, obviously not caring anymore. He was no longer invested in anything except the inner workings of the machine on the desk. 

When Isaac walked in the room he felt an instant sense of relief. His relationship with Isaac was easy to define, easy to maintain. He hugged Isaac, a big engulfing embrace. Isaac laughed and was instantly pleased with the exuberant attention. He followed Derek around like a fascinated puppy, pointing out strategic points of entry and exits in the loft. Digging into weaknesses, places to protect. He helped flesh out a plan for fortification by climbing on and testing all of the points of entry. Scott sat with Stiles, catching up on Stiles' research. 

Isaac really enjoyed the spiral staircase that led upstairs. The heavy wrought iron was like a jungle gym to the beta’s. They took turns figuring out cool ways to leap down the exterior instead of using the stairs like a normal person. He didn’t admit he had done the same thing, but he did show them the coolest way. 

He leapt at the middle of the spiral, grabbed ahold of the railing and pushed his lower body up over his head. Once he was hand standing on the rail he pushed off and aimed his feet through the second floor opening. He latched his feet on the upper guardrail and flipped himself up and over. His motions were fluid like water, they were all visibly impressed with his acrobatics. Scott was the first to try to mimic it, and he fell flat on his ass and slid down the stairs, inciting laughter from the whole group. 

They talked shop and played Call of Duty on the big screen well into the night. Stiles crashed out on the couch. Scott fell asleep on the floor. Isaac was engrossed in the video game still when he decided to go to bed. He stopped and looked at Stiles longingly, but didn’t know how to extract him from the couch and take him back to his room without having to acknowledge certain things to anyone else. He finally decided it didn’t really matter and headed to bed. 

As he started drifting off to sleep he heard shuffling steps coming up the stairs, through his room and up to his bed. Isaac had zombie walked Stiles to his room. Once he was close enough to the bed Isaac just pushed him over unceremoniously. When Stiles was safely deposited in his bed Isaac turned, grabbed blankets from the shelves, and walked out without saying a word. 

He had to stop underestimating his power as Alpha, Isaac could sense nearly every true thing he felt. He could do the same with Isaac. That was how a pack functioned fundamentally. He had to stop acting like it magically disappeared at his convenience. 

***

He woke to the sounds of Scott and Isaac arguing over how to cook eggs. His brows knitted together in annoyance, he cursed them under his breath. “Freakish werewolves. Don’t need as much sleep. Fuck you guys...” He heard a low chuckle and opened his eyes to Derek, laughing as silently as he could at his ridiculous, half-asleep mutterings. 

He loved Derek laughing. He celebrated by layering himself over Derek for a hug. He wrapped his arms around him tightly, leaning his head over on Derek’s shoulder as his pillow. 

“They could burn the loft down.” He warned, his sleepy eyes looked unconcerned, yet the possibility did remain. Left to his own devices, Scott would eat lucky charms everyday for breakfast. He did not cook.

He kissed Derek, his lips closed in fear of horrifying morning breath. Derek kissed him back, seeming unafraid. 

“Erica and Boyd are here...” Derek perked up, he concentrated on the things going on downstairs, but soon even he could hear the boisterous she-wolf plastering herself all over whatever was going on down there. He sighed deeply, he could already feel the defeat washing over him. Erica was a force of nature, a force that tended to scatter him to the winds, right after she bulldozed over him. 

Derek was paying attention to whatever was going on downstairs, but Stiles wanted to hide out. He wished for a door. A lockable door. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, then opened them, but nothing happened. The open wall just stood there, mocking him, only half pretending to give him sanctuary. 

“Incoming.” Derek said in a whisper. He looked around for the lurking, blonde danger instinctively, but he didn’t see anything. As he opened his mouth to ask What? Where?, all the breath was knocked out of him by something horrible and sinister. 

He yelped, not having time or focus to feel undignified, he covered his head with his hands and hunched over into Derek and the bed. 

“What’s going on on here!?!” Erica exclaimed wildly, the over dramatic enthusiasm in her voice was irritatingly juvenile. He peeked through his fingers and saw her luminous light brown eyes, huge smile and red lips hovering over him. He was encircled in a cascade of soft, vanilla scented platinum blonde playmate hair. She positioned herself over him, straddling his hips in just the right...err, wrong spot. She dragged her lips over the side of his face in a parody of a seductive gesture. 

He hated her. He hated her so bad. 

She laid her face down on the side of his face, looking towards Derek and brought her hands down to caress his face mockingly. 

“Ohhhhh, I thought this one was for me!? You went and stole him!” She cackled and licked the side of his face sloppily. He tried desperately to push her off, making gagging noises. She fought back half heartedly, grabbing his hands and letting them go, cackling like a banshee the whole time. Cat and mouse... Derek moved to roll away and Stiles hands shot toward him, catching the front of his thin white muscle tank in a vice grip. His terrified expression should have been inspiring Derek to save him from the mauling he was taking, but instead Derek was faking annoyance, to hide his amusement at their ridiculous behavior. 

She gave up on her campaign to emasculate him by slap fighting him to submission, and rolled over onto the arm that was holding Derek in a death grip. She grabbed Derek’s arm and threw it over her and onto Stiles, holding Derek’s hand in place on his waist. 

“A girl could get used to this kind of attention!” She giggled and smiled like a deranged fool. He took his chance to escape, letting go of Derek and shoving himself off the bed. He landed on the floor in his boxer briefs. His feet still up on the bed. He fell over onto himself as he tried to right himself. He was so flustered he couldn’t even tell which end was up. 

Once he finally popped up over the edge of the bed. He zeroed in on Erica, scowling at her accusingly. He wasn’t going to take this shit every time she was around. She had propped herself up on Derek’s chest, using him like a bench. Her left hand was attached to Derek’s head, absently running her fingers through his thick black hair. one of her legs was underneath her and one of her knees was propped up, her majestically high heel was turned toward him in a way that made it look more like a weapon than a shoe. She was ridiculously hot, but fucking crazy. 

“Can you please remove your paws from the Alpha?” He asked tersely. 

“No, he was my Alpha first.” She smiled, challenging him to a duel. Weapon of choice was bratty wit. 

“HuuuHA! You are such a bitch! You’re just pissed because I’m the one that _really_ got there first! Walking around, covering your butthurty feels with all the mocking--and--and.” He struggled with his internal filter, not wanting to say things that crossed the line, but everything he wanted to say to her crossed some line. He wanted to win, but he also wanted to walk away with his face intact. Erica’s expression said _’Oh? Is that all you got?’_

“ You had a crush on me! I didn’t-- you’re just bitter as fuck--!” He cut his retort short realizing he just sounded like an asshole, nothing witty at all. 

Erica leaned forward and dug her heels into the bed, in a flash she dragged herself to sitting, planting him firmly between her knees. One of her heels rested lightly on the back of his calf, the pain shot through his leg as she twisted it slightly. 

“I never had a crush on you, I was just following orders...” She whispered into his ear. She planted a big red kiss on the side of his head for good measure and dug her heel in. Derek dragged her back onto the bed, releasing Stiles from her death grip. He jumped up as she settled back onto the sheets and waited for the drama to unfold. Stiles refused to give her the satisfaction. He had agreed with Derek yesterday that this was a new set of rules, a clean slate. He wasn't going to break that promise for Erica's entertainment.

He glared at her and muttered terrible things under his breath as he picked up his pants and the shirt was wearing the day before. He dressed himself as Derek laid into Erica for humiliating him and causing a scene. He drew out some unrealistic boundaries for her, like ‘Don’t ever talk about me and Stiles again’ and don’t come into my room without knocking. Knock on what? A brick wall? She could, but it would leave a mark...on the wall. 

It was a wonder the puppies weren’t more insane that they were already, with discipline like that. He waited at the top of the staircase for Erica to finally come out. She hardly looked chastised. He fidgeted with the cuff of his sleeve, leaned back over the edge of the railing, waiting for her to walk by and do something horrible. He straightened up as she passed him, glowering a warning at her, but with the werewolf reflexes it only took a second for her hand to wrap around him and pinch his ass. 

As he yelped and jumped toward her, pelvis first, she grabbed the front of his pants and dragged him to her. Eyes flashing yellow, she nipped at his face with her werewolf fangs. He cried out pitifully and cringed, trying to get himself as far away from her malicious groping as possible. Derek called out her name once, and she heeled. Her eyes went flat and her smile returned to normal. 

“You’re such a baby.” She pouted as she walked away. 

“Yeah well, at least I don’t try to solve all my problems with my tongue” He threw at her. 

“Only my problems with you.” She swatted back at him. 

“Were-Slut.” 

“Jailbait” 

“Oh...My God” He gripped the railing and shook it hard, pretending for a moment that he might be able to dislodge something with his sheer frustration, that a pack of werewolves had been using as a jungle gym. He hit his hand on the railing ineffectually and swore loudly as the pain radiated up his arm. 

He tried to shake off the encounter, convincing himself that pack politics demanded he defend himself from the roughhousing and insults. Derek wasn’t going to babysit him, or micromanage their interactions. He was pack by association, more than ever now. If he wanted to hang with the big wolves he had to fight his own battles. He would just shake this off, go downstairs and reclaim his dignity by acting like he didn't fucking care. Calm. He was the face of calmness and tranquility. 

He sauntered down the steps and into the living room. He was met by Boyd, who handed him a plate of eggs, covered in ketchup--just the way he liked them--and toast. He took the offering with both hands and dug into the toast enthusiastically. 

“Tank Yoo!” He said around a mouthful of buttery sourdough goodness. Boyd stepped into his space menacingly, taking him by surprise. He deftly maneuvered his plate out to the side, away from the threatening. Boyd stopped before he touched him. He braced himself, cringing slightly, confused at why Boyd was looming over him, but knowing he didn’t have much choice in the matter. 

“Don’t call her that again.” Boyd locked his eyes and bristled when he looked up. He chewed his mouthful of toast and swallowed painfully. He had probably gone too far calling her a slut, and he knew it. 

“I’m sorry--Sorry” He tipped his head at Erica and repeated himself for good measure.

“Don’t ever shame a woman for dressing and acting how she likes, man. Do you live in the dark ages?” Satisfied he had gotten his point across, Boyd loosened up and took a step back. He hit Stiles hard in the chest with the back of his hand. The blow was--sort of--meant to be playful, but it hurt like a son of a bitch. He shrank back in pain, his free hand clutched his chest dramatically. He deserved it, so he took the punishment with no further commentary. 

Food was laid out on the counter and everyone was gathered around chatting. The conversation evolved from school, to grades, to people they knew. Speculations on Allison and the hunters ran rampant, finally it came to rest on Peter. He was finishing up his second helping of eggs when everyone suddenly went quiet. He looked up to see the source of the fixation and everyone was looking at him, waiting for him to talk about something. 

“What?!” He choked out from around his mouthful of eggs. “What!’ 

“They want to know how you beat Peter.” Derek said from behind him, as he came down the stairs. 

He slid his eyes over every face at the table, gawking at his new found celebrity, mouth open. Every single one of them stared expectantly. He was completely unprepared to answer questions, or share information. He thought he was sort of, sworn to secrecy about his research and all the stuff they'd been doing. He realized that they all shared this bond, this werewolf-ness. They knew things about each other. They shared things with each other like family, because they had no reason not to.

Even Scott, who refused to follow Derek, still cared about him quite a bit, still understood him. Scott talked to Derek often, and not too long ago had told him to be extra nice to Derek, which confused him. Scott insisted he just do it, so he assumed it was just Scott being his extra sweet self. 

His experience of being let in by Derek probably wasn't as novel to the rest of them, because Derek didn't need words to communicate with them, and they didn't need to hear words to understand the Alpha. 

"Peter told us about what you did to him. He said we could learn a thing or two from a killer like you." Erica volunteered, amused by the scandal, her eyebrow lifted and she stared him down. He felt a flush of embarrassment that Peter had called him a killer. He hadn’t been trying to kill Peter, but Peter didn’t know that. He had talked to Scott about it earlier, explained himself, but in the shorthand they used. He defended himself incoherently, but his spazzy weirdness wasn't getting him anywhere with these guys. 

The expectant looks got under his skin, he felt like he was being stared at by the children of the corn. He looked to Derek for permission to let them in on it, gesturing with his open palms to the group of misfits demanding his knowledge. Derek nodded his approval. That was all the permission he needed to burst at the seams, spilling all of his new found theories was his favorite thing to do... used to be his favorite thing to do. 

"Okay, so I figured something out about you guys.” He got up from his chair. He bounced across the floor into the largest space in the middle. He had been set loose, given free reign to be Yoda to the whole ragtag pack of wolves. He was starting to feel kinda like a rockstar “You probably don't even know you are looking for it, but a lot of your pre-perceptive... supernatutral-like responses, like knowing how someone will hit you-- it comes from your acute perception of anticipatory muscle movements." He walked up to Derek and pulled him to the center of the room. He squared up with him and stood back. 

“Okay it’s like this” He lifted up Derek’s arm, holding it high above his head, then dropped it back to his side. He pointed to Derek’s core and highlighted the muscles there. “Now you lift your arm.” He commanded, and Derek lifted his arm up above his head. Everyone saw his core muscles tightened half a second before he even started lifting his arm, that was a long time when put in perspective of Werewolf response time. 

“The other things that you guy’s sense is intention. You can feel it and smell it. If I want to beat him up--.” He looked at Derek and started talking himself into punching him in the face, hard. He tried to believe it completely, going over every intricacy of what might make him want to punch Derek. He imagined his movement as he lets his fist make contact with Derek’s face, and he kinda wanted to do it, because Derek didn’t save him from Erica, and he was kind of a dick. 

He swung for Derek, the full force of his manufactured anger behind his blow. Derek ducked, and grabbed his hand as it swung past. Derek pulled him in, forcing his arm down to his side. Derek caught him up with his other arm, tucking him into an awkward backwards bear hug. With his back to Derek, his neck exposed, he was just waiting for Derek to take a big bite out of him. Derek’s hand clutched the bottom of his face and jaw tightly. Erica smiled and laughed, the only one who either cared, or saw the eroticism in the hold. 

It didn’t get past him though, as he extracted himself from his opponent's vice grip. It helped to reset his intention toward Derek, so it was kinda good, in context. He concentrated on how much he liked Derek’s face, how nicely shaped it was and how much he wanted to touch it with his fist. In his mind he thought of his fist as something funny, cute, nice. He swung again with his right hand, but this time he put all his power into his left fist, which came up and made contact with Derek’s abdomen. 

Derek froze in place, Stiles right fist in his hand, his left fist dug into Derek's gut. He froze as well, leaning the tail end of his momentum into Derek. 

Derek backed up and looked at Stiles’ left fist. He was surprised and impressed. He didn’t hurt Derek at all, but he did get a blow in under the werewolf’s radar. 

“See the first time I thought about hitting him, it was to hurt him. The next time, I pretended that hitting him wasn’t an attack, it changed the way he perceived me. It took away a level of information you subconsciously perceive. I wasn’t projecting my intention to attack into my body. All he had to rely on was the muscle contractions he could see, and in close combat you can’t see everything the other person is doing.” He delivered the explanation as thoroughly as he could.

“I got my attack past Peter by focusing on micro actions, leaving out the violent intent. Each small step I took was the only thing in my mind. I didn’t think about smashing him in the head till the last second, so he didn’t think I was a threat. He kept his back to me, and I took advantage of that.” His description left out the composite bat, purposefully. He felt a little ridiculous about it, everyone in this room had more subtle weapons, attached to their bodies.  
  
“What did you hit him with?” Boyd spoke up. _Too much to hope for..._

Derek retrieved the composite bat from the supply closet next to the elevator. He spun it in his hands and tossed it to Boyd. He snatched it out of the air and turned it over appreciatively. 

“This is bad ass, dude.” Boyd nodded his head and took a short, one handed swing with it. “Light, easy for you to keep swingin’ with. You could kick some werewolf ass with this... Just don’t fall on it.” 

Stiles scoffed, a little embarrassed. Falling on it had actually been one of his biggest concerns, he had just never said it out loud.

They all looked around at each other, except Erica, surprised but admiring his effort. Scott seemed a little worried, but once he got the bat in his hands he looked more excited about it. Erica was looking at Derek intently. He didn’t really care why because Derek wasn’t looking back, Derek was looking at him. The composite bat was sort of ...viciously sexy, he felt like maybe it needed a name. 

They had questions, he answered what he could, but with so many willing participants, aka test subjects, he was able to work out almost everything he had theorized. Boyd understood the science the best, and Scott easily understood the working examples Boyd provided. Isaac was the grand master of the fake out punch inside of a few minutes. He and Erica brawled across the floor like rabid badgers, getting in some seriously brutal attacks on each other. 

As he watched, he saw Erica in a new light. She was amazing, but she had so much more potential just waiting to surface. She was lithe and furious. Her movements had an ethereal grace, but her execution was like a sledge hammer. He turned to Derek and pointed it out to him, explaining how he thought she could think differently, and move differently, and ultimately attack differently. Derek listened intently, he was invested in Stiles, and his observations. He watched Erica for a few moments and agreed. He observed from where he sat as Derek went to Erica and talk to her. He watched them spar out the new information with pantomime, and intense discussion.

Ready to put the theory to work, Erica stretched herself out and cracked her neck, emulating Derek in every way. She lunged at Isaac, dodging his counter attack, she wrapped herself around him and slashed his back, deeply from one side to the other. Isaac howled in pain and grabbed for Erica, his claws sinking into her arm. He collapsed to the floor. The damage was going to take more than a second to heal. He felt overwhelmingly responsible for Isaac’s pain. He fought the urge to run to Isaac’s side, he wasn’t as emotionally prepared for his advice to work as he should have been. 

The deadly she-wolf glided over to him, she walked like her feet barely touched the floor. With her arm still dripping blood she left a gruesome trail behind her. Her tank top was shredded and covered in blood, mostly not her own. She was terrifying, but she stopped short of him. She stayed out of arm’s reach. It felt intentional to him, though, he couldn’t begin to imagine why she would do it. 

“That wasn’t Derek talking, that was your idea.” She stated, almost accusingly. 

He had told Derek to explain to Erica that she should think of her body as a delivery system for her claws and teeth. She didn’t have to hit as hard as one of the boys, she didn’t have to land that devastating kick to the chest, even though she could. Instead she could dance a circle around anyone, toy with them and wear them out, until she saw an opportunity to slash or tear. Effectively ripping her enemy to pieces. This, she understood, was better than a brute force attack. It incapacitated opponents for longer, or permanently. The boys weren't fast enough to land blows like that on each other reliably, but she was. 

He nodded and pursed his lips together, he didn’t want to fight with Erica. He wanted to respect her, he did respect her. 

“Thanks.” She smiled at him, her usual sick grimace replaced with a genuinely pleased smile.

She turned on one foot like a dancer and kicked off, lunging across the floor in a decidedly un-dancer like fashion, taking out Scott and Boyd like a bowling ball taking down pins. They all landed against the far brick wall, Boyd caught up Erica in his arms and laughed. Scott pulled himself up to sitting and looked over at him, the smile on his face was huge and happy. Scott blew him a kiss and waved coyly. 

What a fucking dork. 

***

In the couple of days after the big throwdown lesson Stiles facilitated, he had watched Boyd, Isaac, and Erica become better strategic fighters than he had taught them to be in two months. They were more aware of their bodies, the power they held, and how to utilize all their senses. Stiles knew how to explain things in a way that that could be easily understood by whomever he was talking to. 

With Boyd, Stiles talked in 50 cent words, dramatizing the sexiness of the biology, chemistry and philosophy of their "wolvelihood", he called it. With Isaac he kept his voice low, he never criticized, he imparted facts and ideas in uncomplicated snippets, only building further once the last thing was understood. Many times Stiles would pull Isaac into a corner and huddle like they did in LaCrosse practice. Stiles would wrap a protective arm around his shoulders or make jokes at every one else's expense as he explained. 

He had never been able to communicate with Boyd or Isaac effectively. Erica could read him like an open book, but the other two? With both of them he used a method of making them guess what he wanted, punishment for failure, praise for success. They both hated him for it, but he didn’t think it mattered. He needed them to survive, not to like him. 

Watching them with each other, learning how they worked as people, he began to realize how special they all were. How much he loved them, and wanted them to succeed. 

The level of complex interaction Stiles could perceive and hold on to was astounding to him. Stiles saw things he took for granted. Things his brain processed as white noise, but his animalistic nature used constantly. He had always known they were there, the ideas floating around in his brain, nameless and mysterious. Stiles gave them all definitions, applied hard science, soft science, and theory to all of it an a completely brilliant way. 

There were a lot of things Stiles was not capable of understanding as a human, but he kept trying, digging into whatever they would let him experiment with. They drew the line when he wanted to electrocute them to find out what the Argents knew about electricity and werewolf physiology. 

His idea was that he could figure out a way around it, maybe. Erica accused him of being a nazi scientist, and Boyd said no in a way that left no more room for discussion. He would never be able to stomach the idea. Scott turned pale at everyone else's reactions and left Stiles hanging. He called them all ungrateful wretches and stormed around for a while, but eventually he decided he didn’t care anymore, or maybe he forgave them for drawing the line and ruining his chance of learning more. 

They hadn’t had any time alone for almost 2 days. Stiles didn’t seem to notice, he had been throwing himself into everything he had ever wanted to dismantle and understand about being a werewolf for the last few months. He started asking questions and researching Sunday. When he kept going the rest of them just stuck around, waiting for his next barrage of questions or experiments. They were all curious where it was all going, they all wanted to know this stuff.

He was just surprised that Stiles valued his intellectual pursuits over listening to his dick, but who was he to judge. He just wasn’t one for public displays, Stiles didn’t mind, but he felt weird in front of the others, so he missed the contact. 

He meandered over to Stiles, who was sitting at the computer chatting with an underground expert in Australia he had won over somehow. He sat on the edge of the desk and observed for a while. Nothing remarkable seemed to be happening from his point of view, but Stiles was completely engrossed. He was also scrolling a document on another monitor. He leaned in, running his hands over some notes, making a subtle bid for Stiles attention. He caught a scent he hadn’t noticed, Adderall. 

Derek scowled, he knew by now that Stiles didn’t use the Adderall everyday like it said on the bottle. He saved it up and consumed it in quantity when he felt like he needed it. It was hard on his body and mind, Derek thought the last incident had curbed his appetite for the medication, at least for a while. He remembered the bottle he had hidden in his Camaro. 

He went and investigated, it was still there. His instincts were sounding off, he had a feeling there was more to this than he could see on the outside. He took a big whiff off the bottle and held the acrid stench of the chemicals in his mind. He went inside and searched, trying to not bring too much attention to himself as he made his way around the rest of the pack. 

He caught the scent in a backpack that was hung up on the staircase. He opened the front pocket and pulled out the bottle. Almost empty. Scott came up behind him and saw what he had taken out of the bag. 

“Oh, does Stiles need those? I thought maybe I left an apple in there or something.” He laughed to himself mostly. He grabbed the bottle from Derek’s hands and took it over to Stiles. Derek watched as Scott pressed them at Stiles, he listened to the conversation from across the loft. 

“Derek said you wanted these.” Scott shook the bottle at Stiles. 

“What?” Stiles jumped as he turned and looked at what Scott had in his hand. He snatched the bottle from Scott and searched for Derek. When his eyes landed on Derek’s face he saw the shame flush on Stiles face, blood rushing to his cheeks and ears. 

“What’s wrong with you dude?” Scott stared bewildered, unsure as why his friends heart rate jumped through the roof and why he seemed upset. 

“Nothing! It’s not--It’s just something I was reading.” 

“It’s not werewolf porn is it?” Scott leaned over Stiles and examined what was on the screen. The rest of them perked up and turned their heads toward the conversation. Magic words had been spoken. 

“Oh My God...NO! What is wrong with you!” 

“What? This is gross! _‘A study of Alpha werewolf physiology, how eating wild prey affects the post transformative digestive tract’?_ You are reading about poop! Why does that even matter?” 

“Scott...go away!” 

“Seriously Dude, why does this even matter at all? You are getting way too deep here, this isn’t going to be like the 8th grade when you--” 

“TTTSSSSSSSSTTTTT!!! Enough! DO NOT KEEP TALKING!” Stiles stopped Scott dead in his tracks, his hand held out to Scotts face, his thumb and middle finger pressed together tightly.

“But--” 

“NO” 

“You--”

“NO!!” Stiled yelled through clenched teeth, Scott knew he had hit a wall. He turned, his feelings hurt, but only a little. He walked back past Derek on the way to the couch. 

“You made the mess.” Scott pointed his thumb in the direction he came from. “You can clean it up.” 

Derek glowered at Scott, his glare followed him all the way to the couch. He stood and watched Stiles, eventually he looked back over his shoulder at Derek. He held his gaze for long enough to make it obvious he had a problem. Then he turned and leapt up the stairs, if Stiles cared, he would follow. 

A few minutes later he heard Stiles shuffling up the spiral staircase slowly. As he got to the top Erica boasted loudly that she could beat all their asses to the car, and someone was buying her a burger because she was starving. They all participated in the mass exodus, knowing full well the meal was just a cover for giving Derek and Stiles a few minutes of peace to talk about something they didn’t understand yet, but knew they should not be a part of. 

Stiles walked into the bedroom and stood in the middle of the floor shuffling, his body language said exasperated, bored, but guilt was coming off of him in waves. 

“What is going on with those?” Derek pointed to Stiles pocket, where his hand was clenched around the bottle of Adderall. 

“I have a hard time focusing, you know I have ADHD--” 

“Bullshit.” Derek challenged. 

“You don’t know, I have been screened by medical professionals--I have--” 

“No, I’m not a doctor, but what I have seen is without that shit you have been the most brilliant person in the room, over and over. There is no way you legitimately need that stuff.” 

“I HAVE to be the most brilliant person in the room you mean?!” Stiles flung out the words, expecting the bitter insult to stick in Derek like an arrow. Instead Derek grabbed his phone and looked up Adderall overdose symptoms. 

“Fast or uneven heartbeats, light-headedness, fainting, increased blood pressure, blurred vision, trouble concentrating, chest pains, numbness, seizure, restlessness, unusual behavior and hallucinations...” 

“I haven’t even had half of those, this is bullshit. I am not suffering an overdose, for fucks sake!” 

“Really? because for the past couple of days you have been level headed, intuitive, caring, wonderful, and FOCUSED. Now you are acting like a junkie, twitching, shuffling, you have dry mouth and you’re being an asshole.” 

Stiles hung his head and muttered a curse under his breath. “If I want to take my prescribed medicine, I will. I’m doing this because YOU need me to.” Stiles jabbed the insult again, trying to goad Derek into feeling bad about not knowing everything already. He did feel bad, but he also knew Stiles was just trying to scare him off. 

“How much have you taken?” Derek asked flatly. 

“Two, I’ve taken two, and it was just a couple of hours ago, when Scott got here.” Stiles laid out his evidence, expecting Derek to bend to his form of rationale, but he was lying.

“And how many more were you planning on taking tonight?” 

“None, why would I need to?” The lie was laughably transparent. Derek considered arguing but instead took action. He went to Stiles and dragged his hand out of his pocket, pill bottle intact. 

“Okay, fine. We can flush these then, right?”

“NO! I need those, they’re mine, you can’t just flush them!” Stiles snapped, grabbing for his pills. 

Derek held him back and stared him down. He pulled the other bottle out of his pocket and held that up also. His silent challenge bored it’s way into Stiles mind. He saw the gears turning. He felt the desperation coming off him. 

“I am not addicted, I don’t even take them everyday.” 

“You’re abusing them.” 

“I have to do this, you of all people should understand we need to know everything we can before we take on the Alphas.”

“We really need to know how eating a live rabbit will affect their guts after they transform?” 

“That was just part of that, I found--” 

“No. I am thankful, we all are, but you don’t need to do this to yourself.” Derek voice was dark and forceful. 

“And if I can find something that will keep you or Scott from dying? Something that will save us? or give us an edge? Something that will work against them? Am I supposed to stop everything because I get a little tired?” Stiles pleaded. 

“And if they catch up with you like this? What would you do then?” 

“You saw what I did to Peter.”

“That’s part of the problem.” Derek stated without explaining himself. 

“Oh so that’s the problem? Everyone else gets to be murder crazy, but me?” Stiles bitterly expounded on his humanity. “I have to sit back at the command center and hope no one finds me? I don’t even get to be Robin anymore? Now I’m stuck at home like Professor X? You know if you weren’t such a gigantic failure as a leader I wouldn’t have to do any of this. this would be your job. You can’t pick up your phone to look shit up about your own kind, but you can use it as ammunition against the only person you have on your side smart enough to figure all this insane shit out?” Stiles venom enveloped them both. 

Derek reeled at the tirade of insults. His shoulders fell and his face turned to steel as he hardened himself against the hate spewing from Stiles. If he had to be a punching bag, then he had to, but he would not give in and he would not let Stiles take any more Adderall. 

Stiles was pacing in front of him, mentally talking himself into action of some kind. He watched Stiles eyes dilated alarmingly fast, his skin flushed and Derek could hear his heartbeat, which was already fast from the anger, rev up to a disconcerting pace. Derek hoped he wouldn’t decide to attack him, words he could handle, words he could forget, but if Stiles started throwing punches he risked hurting himself, or losing control. 

“Give them back.” 

“No.” Derek stood his ground. 

“Fuck you!” Stiles yelled at him. “FUCK YOU!” He lunged at Derek and punched him in the chest. He stepped back and yelled more but Derek tuned him out. He set his jaw and kept his expression flat. Stiles would run out of energy soon, the chemical boost he had given himself would not sustain this kind of emotional and physical outburst. Derek was unsure how much sleep he'd gotten over the last couple days, but the body could only be pushed so far. 

Stiles yelled for what seemed like forever, he went from being angry and hitting Derek in the chest, the only placed he had deemed ‘okay’ to punch him apparently, to staring at him and silently fuming. Derek hung his head for a second and allowed himself to feel how ugly and fucked up this was.

He had to allow the pendulum to swing, as the stakes rose, as the chaos bloomed, so did the tolerance for emotional outbursts, mistakes, ugliness in general. He couldn't expect Stiles to control himself under this much duress and chemical impairment, once he had sobered up though... 

"This is all your fault." Stiles waited for him to react, his mouth worked in an odd way and his face distorted to a grimace. When he didn't give Stiles the satisfaction of showing the pain he was trying to inflict, Stiles turned and punched the brick wall. 

The wall stood, unmoved by his angry outburst. Stiles hissed in pain and flung his hand. His shoulders hunched as he massaged the pain in his knuckles. Blood dripped to the ground at his feet. Derek stepped forward to look at his hand. His concern trumping his efforts to stay neutral while Stiles wore himself out. 

The uncharacteristic paranoia hanging around Stiles made him pause as he reached out. He concentrated and felt Stiles out. He was a mess of feelings, but the paranoia was the most palpable. He remembered the tortured souls in New York, the mentally ill pacing in alleyways, walking down streets talking to themselves. They felt like this. Stiles wasn’t muttering to himself, he was talking to himself. 

Derek clutched his upper arms and turned him around. Facing Stiles he brought his nose to Stiles mouth and inspected the scents there further. He had consumed far more than two pills, and he had consumed them between the time Scott handed him the bottle and coming up here. 

“How many did you take?” Derek demanded. 

“I told you two!.” Stiles was sliding away, his blown out eyes shifted in an unnatural way and he struggled against Derek ineffectively. He had no choice, he had to know how many he had taken, and what was going to happen to him. He dragged the wolf to the surface and spoke in a voice that would terrify and subdue anyone, human and wolf alike. 

“How many?” The question rumbled out of his chest menacingly.

Stiles shook in his arms like a trembling leaf. He grasped the front of Derek’s shirt tightly. 

“Six, two a few hours ago, then one a couple hours ago and three more just now.” He whispered, barely able to speak. Derek pulled back the wolf, as long as Stiles kept cooperating he didn’t need it. 

“Have you done that before?” 

“No, the last time...that night with you--was 5.” 

Derek remembered how fucked up he had gotten, and how he was willing to keep taking them, only Derek had stopped him. He knew things like this got worse over time. The more you abused it, the worse your reactions got. 

“They are slow burning tablets, I can throw them up if I need to.” Stiles said, volunteering information finally. Derek didn’t need further prompting. He dragged Stiles down the stairs, to the bathroom. Stiles became combative about halfway down the stairs, screaming like a banshee, the mental illness and chemical stench rolled off him in waves. He punched and slapped at Derek wildly. 

Derek felt like he might even be hallucinating. He didn’t feel like he was here, in this room, he felt far away. He zeroed in on Stiles heartbeat, it was too fast, but steady. He hadn’t damaged it, Derek would have been able to tell. 

As he passed by the desk he saw a couple of energy drinks, one can empty and tipped over halfway under the papers. How could this be going on in his own house and he didn’t notice?  
How did regular human people deal with things like this? 

As he dragged Stiles into the bathroom, he grabbed the door and propped himself up against it. His hand was bleeding profusely now his knuckles spilt further and gaping from the additional trauma of hitting Derek with them. He left half a dozen bloody handprints on the door. 

The concrete wall was there for him again as he pushed Stiles against it. Waiting for him to calm down again. This was the second time he had done this in here, and they had only fooled around in here once. As he marked off the tallies in his mind he resolved this would never happen again. 

He tapped into the connection they had, the one he had been avoiding since that night in Stiles house, in the hallway where he impulsively imprinted on him. That familial connection that was only supposed to be used to tie a pack together. He hadn’t let it flourish, he had been suppressing it in his own mind, trying to hold it back because he didn’t want Stiles to know what he’d done. He didn’t want him to know that he’d stolen him from Scott, that he’d done it without his permission. 

The air around them became quiet and still. Stiles had stopped moving. The only sound was his labored breathing. Derek pulled the mental burden of the intoxication into himself, sharing the trauma as much as he could. He couldn’t do anything about the chemicals in his system; he could, in essence, give Stiles some of his clarity, and take some of Stiles damage. 

The terror Stiles was experiencing had choked him up, he couldn’t make himself scream anymore. Derek was a monster taking away everything that was good and normal about his life. Derek was the reason everything was wrong in his world. He was drowning is his panic. He knew he had to get his mind back, he had to get through the pills to the other side, so he wouldn’t be at the mercy of this terrible monster in front of him. 

Derek let him go, and he stood on his own two feet. He walked to the sink and drank from the tap. He drank until his stomach felt like bursting, and when he stood the sickness was real. He had done this before, many times. He was practiced, he knew exactly what to do, and he had regretted it just as many times. This was always the biggest mistake, Taking those last couple pills, but it seemed like the only solution. Why couldn’t he stop?

Stiles leaned over the toilet, his body convulsing with the illness that spread through him. He heaved up sickly, sweet smelling green fluid, the energy drink, bile, and water. He hadn’t eaten anything for quite some time. Derek held him up, one arm wrapped protectively around his chest, the other bracing himself against the wall. Stiles didn’t hold onto the wall or the toilet, his arms clenched Derek’s like he was holding on for his life. 

Derek heard running, felt the others descend upon them, within seconds Scott was present, demanding answers. Erica was holding him back while Isaac and Boyd took in the scene through the opened door. Stiles moaned and asked for a towel. Erica braced Scott, shaking his shoulders and looking him in the eye, to know he wouldn't freak out, before she let go. 

She made quick work of cleaning Stiles up. She seemed to know what she was doing and it made Derek feel much better. 

The bathroom cleared out, Isaac pulled Scott out, and Boyd closed the door behind them. Erica cleaned up the bathroom and sat down on the closed toilet. Derek let go of Stiles, letting him fall into her protective arms. He knelt in front of her, his arms closed around her waist, she held onto his shoulders and stroked his hair. Stiles sobbed into her chest, great heaving sobs of someone in complete despair. 

Derek reeled from the intensity, the thoughts plaguing Stiles mind. He knew he could handle this, his own past had prepared him. Erica knew what was going on, she could smell the stench of the amphetamines, she could also feel his thoughts and emotions, but to a lesser degree than Derek. She knew exactly what to do, she could handle this. They silently reassured each other like only pack could do.

Derek relaxed against the wall, he saw himself in the mirror. His upper body and face bore stamps from Stiles hand, every punch he pulled, every time he slapped Derek. The door looked like a murder scene. He could hear Scott and Isaac cleaning up the blood splattered on the floor and stairs. How many times now? He hadn’t even been here a week... More bleach. 

His shirt was expendable, he used it to clean off his face and soak his head in water from the tap. He pulled off his socks, he had stepped in the puddle of blood upstairs and had tracked it all over the house, his foot leaving stamps just like Stiles hand. Marking the horrific choreography that they left behind them, telling the story of the struggle almost entirely in footprints. He knew he had to tell the rest of it. He might as well do it while Stiles was still relatively incoherent, just in case he wanted to try to convince everyone he was okay. 

The floor near the bathroom and door were still splattered, but the rest of the house was clean. Isaac took the blood and cleaner soaked paper towels out to the burn barrel. Boyd had been standing guard outside the door. He clasped Derek on the shoulder and gave him a bolstering grip. Derek reached up, thankful for the gesture of solidarity, he covered Boyds hand with his own. They stood silently, he was so thankful for the near effortless communication that was possible with a pack. 

His hand dropped from Boyd’s and the huge teenager held his chest and clapped him on the back as Derek turned away, his face full of concern. Derek could feel the soothing echo of Boyd’s hand on his chest. He held the interaction in his mind as he walked to Scott and filled him in. 

The story was straightforward, but Scott had a hard time believing it. He felt guilty because he had brought Stiles the Adderall from his house. His desk stash. He looked in the bottle Derek presented and confirmed about half a dozen pills were missing. Scott took the pills to the sink and shoved them down the drain. He said he knew how crazy Stiles could get when he took more than one, but he didn’t know it could get this bad. 

Scott had never seen Stiles under this much pressure though, he had never seen him deal with feeling like he wasn’t allowed to sleep, like his life depended on remaining awake, compiling information, and staying mentally acute for as long as possible. He didn’t know that Stiles convinced himself, one more pill would do the trick, or maybe two. He didn’t know that Stiles lied to himself when he said he would never do it again. And again, every time he took just one more, every time he broke his own self imposed limits. 

Derek told him, but didn’t explain how he knew. Scott hadn’t chosen to be part of his pack. He didn’t know about the impressions, it wasn’t like telepathy, it was like an echo of a feeling. If you knew what you were feeling, you could put the pieces together and figure out what the other wolf was thinking. The closer you were, the more clear it was. It was a combination of heightened perception of the bodies chemical responses to emotion, and the perception of the electrical impulses that animated life in all creatures.

Stiles would probably explain it like how some people can feel electromagnetic fields, exposed wiring in their house, or low hanging power lines, and it makes them feel _‘weirded out’_ or sick. Then they would mistakenly think their house was haunted. It worked differently between all wolves in the pack, like how a husband and wife know all of each others body language cues, but cousins have to get to know each other all over again every time they visit for the summer. It took time and willingness to form that bond, to get to know someone’s inner workings well enough to understand it. Once the bond was there it could be utilized for levels of communication humans could never imagine. 

Scott was consumed with concern for his friend. “I want to take Stiles home, or back to his house. I think he needs to go home.” 

“Don’t take him to your house, your Mom would be able to spot this shit a mile away.” Derek mulled over the equally perceptive Sheriff’s viability. “You have to tell the Sheriff that he’s sick, that he threw up from bad food or something. I can come with you and make sure he can get in the house if you want to sneak in.” 

“No, that’s okay, I’ve snuck Stiles in drunk plenty of times...” Scott admitted sheepishly. Derek had to wonder how often Stiles got drunk, but chose to save that discussion for another day. 

“Don’t let him drink, or take anything else. He just needs to detox.” 

“Yeah, I get that.” 

“I’m going with you.” Isaac spoke up, he had been looming behind Derek for most of the conversation. His words were a statement of fact, his mind was made up. Isaac was also welcome at the Sheriff’s house, Derek was not. 

“That’s not a bad idea, just in case he...loses it again, you should have backup Scott.” Derek’s argument was sound, and all of them were working in Stiles best interest. 

“Agreed.” Scott clasped hands with Isaac and slapped him on the back with appreciation. Derek knew they made a good team, they were all in LaCrosse together and could move as one unit when they needed to. They wouldn’t be causing any trouble for each other. 

Derek and Isaac cleaned up the rest of the kitchen. Scott gathered up their stuff. Boyd had moved into the bathroom with Erica and Stiles. She had walked him through getting cleaned up and was back to comforting him quietly. Boyd had gotten him new clothes, they had bandaged his hand. He had his arms wrapped around her neck and his head on her shoulder. She held him tightly to her, with one arm around his chest. If Derek had walked in on them in any other setting he would think they were slow dancing. Boyd stood behind Stiles, one hand on the center of his back. 

Kind, spectacular, and encouraging words came from her. She whispered in his ear that he was special and loved. That they would protect him, and that they wanted him to be okay. They cared more about him being okay than they did about anything else. She told him he was strong and he didn’t need the pills. She ran her long loving fingers across his head and down his neck soothingly, telling him that he was their brother, that they would do anything for him. If he needed help he only needed to think it loudly enough. They wanted nothing more in the world than to see him live and be safe. 

No one wanted to break the spell she had Stiles under. He motioned to Scott to go in and Erica took the cue. She told Stiles he had to go home and rest. He responded by clutching her tightly and squeezing his eyes shut against the world. She talked him into it and he let her go. He took hold of Scott’s hands and walked out of the bathroom, never raising his eyes from the floor. 

Derek followed them out to Stiles Jeep, hanging back as far as he could. He watched Stiles drive away, his head leaned against the passenger window. He was consumed with grief and defeat. He hated himself so much he couldn’t see out of his own head. He thought it would be better to not be alive anymore. 

The impressions almost made him want to chase after the Jeep, to stop him, save him. He knew there was nothing more he could do. He had kept him safe, and until he sobered up he would stay safe with Isaac and Scott. That was all that could be done for now. 

Erica and Boyd stood at his side as he watched the imaginary spot, the last glimpse he had of the Jeep as it turned the corner. They stayed until the fixation was broken. He turned and walked back into the loft, exhausted and lacking any motivation to stay awake. They straightened up in the loft, mostly collecting Stiles things reverently. Notes, books, printed out material, all strewn about the loft. Their fallen comrade and the fruits of his efforts were the only things they cared about. 

When Derek headed upstairs to his bed, Erica and Boyd followed. He threw himself down on top of the covers, but Erica covered him with the heavy down comforter from the shelf. She climbed in beside him and covered him with her arms. Her touch was consoling, the same kindness she had shown Stiles. She kicked off her boots and snuggled up against his back. She situated herself so she to could fall asleep, but maintain her healing embrace. He felt thankful for her, no one had cared for him like this since he was a child; Part of him felt like he should be refusing it, the rest of him wanted nothing more than just this, until the world was reliable again. 

The next afternoon Derek woke up to Erica and Boyd talking quietly. He knew they could tell he was awake, but he didn’t want to break up their conversation, and he didn’t want to be a part of it either, so he just listened. 

“Yeah, it was really hard sometimes. Some of the kids were really sick, and some of them weren’t there to get better, they were there because they were dying.” Erica’s voice wavered and he could feel Boyd embrace her tighter. 

“Did they?” He asked, not out of curiosity but to know if Erica had witnessed it, if she had bore the hurt that came from knowing a child who didn’t live to see his future. 

“Yeah, one of them, but I didn’t know until I came back to visit. I wanted to see my nurses, after I had a check up. The surgery didn’t work completely, but it helped a lot. That’s why I started going to regular school.” She explained. “He was so little, he was 7, but he was small for his age. His mom died when he was born. His Dad loved him, but all he wanted was attention from women. He thought I was good enough I guess, and he was so cute. Whenever I held him I felt like I was holding a tiny butterfly in my arms. He had blonde hair and dark brown eyes. He was so beautiful.” 

She paused for a moment, but Derek knew she was going to continue with her story. It was awful and beautiful at the same time. He wanted to know these things about her, but he felt like one more sad thing might tip over the edge, make him want to turn off his feelings and go run in the woods.

“He had kidney problems, I’m not sure what, but they were bad. He went from being a crazy ball of energy to being lethargic and fussy in moments. All he wanted when he felt bad was to be held in someones arms. The nurses all said I was an angel. I was worried about having a seizure with him in my arms, but one nurse just set us up on the big couch in the playroom and said it was okay. So I just kept taking care of him. His Dad was really nice, he was older and so sad, but he was really nice.” She stopped, her story was getting to her. “ Still see him sometimes. he works over at the bowling alley, you know Frank.” 

“Frank?” Boyd said surprised. “I didn’t know...” 

“Nobody does really, he used to be a banker, he ran the big building on fourth, near the gas station, you know? But after Sammy died he quit. He said he needed a job with less responsibility.” She swallowed hard, probably remembering the conversation she had with Frank. “He died in surgery.” She didn’t tell the rest of the story, the part where she cried for him for weeks afterward. Where she wished it was her that had died in surgery and not Sammy. The part where she took the memory of caring for him and shoved it deep down inside herself so it couldn’t destroy her. 

“I’ve never been around anyone who needed me, not like that.” Boyd divulged.

“It’s not so bad anymore, now I feel like I can handle whatever it is, like for real. After all the shit we’ve been through, bad feelings and bad choices don’t seem like much to deal with. As long as everyone lives through it.” The trade off for all her power was the need to use it, Derek was glad she understood that, but at the same time he felt like if anyone deserved all the good the bite could give a person, and none of the bullshit, it was Erica. 

The quiet in the room provided her with ample opportunity to acknowledge Derek was awake. She reached out and ran a soothing hand up and down his back. He sighed and let himself enjoy the attention. He wasn’t a sick child, he was a beleaguered Alpha, and he was thankful for his Betas. 

Eventually he got up and went downstairs to face the day. They all took turns cleaning up for the day and eating the breakfast Derek left out for them. It was a movie, piled on the couch like puppies, then a run to a fast food place for copious amounts of hamburgers and french fries. 

They didn’t talk much at all, but they functioned together seamlessly. The goal, he understood, was that he was to not alone. He had them, and they would be here for no other reason than for him to know that they were. It was easier than he thought it would be to accept the care they had to give, to trust them. He always imagined Erica and Boyd were only still here because they felt like they had no other choice. 

After only a few hours of consciousness they all decided they wanted to hibernate again. He ended the day just as he started it, sleeping in the arms of his pack.

*** 

 

The sun was shining through the window. The light stung his eyes painfully as soon as he opened them. The breeze that hit his face, the fresh air, it smelled like morning. He saw a silhouette in the light coming through the window. Derek? Scott? He blinked and squeezed his eyes tight, rubbing them too hard against his grainy eyelids. The burning sensation didn’t go away, this was as good as it was going to get. 

He lifted himself a little and looked around the room. Scott was sitting in his gaming chair, playing Call of Duty. His head whipped over to the other figure, he moved too fast, a familiar headache flooded his skull, the pain radiated down his neck and over his eyes. Involuntarily his teeth bore down and his eyes clenched against the pain. 

A hand came out and clutched his shoulder tightly. Isaac...The name reverberated in his brain as the pain dulled. It de-evolved from a stabbing avalanche to a dull persistent thud. He peeled his eyes open and looked up at his wide eyed werewolf friend. Isaac held on to him for longer than seemed necessary. He reached up and patted his hand, letting him know he was okay. Isaac didn’t let go, he felt a weird tingling on the back of his neck, like when you imagine someone is standing right behind him, or like you were being watched. It gave him a shiver up his spine. 

He said thank you outloud and Isaac finally dropped his hand, smiling in his awkward sheepish way. Isaac stretched his legs out and wrapped his arms around himself tightly. Stiles watched him as he woke up the rest of the way, because he was there. He couldn’t sit still for long, he never did. He was kind of like Stiles that way. He chewed on his lip and picked at it with his fingers absently. He smiled a half smile at Stiles again and scratched his head, turning his face away like he felt uncomfortable. 

The quiet drone of the video game went on, Scott didn’t look away from the screen when he asked Stiles if he was okay. Stiles waited until Scott died again to answer. Priorities, he understood them. He knew it was safe to speak when Scott pretended he was going to slam the controller down on the floor, but stopped short and cursed, letting the controller fall from his hands like something gross and dead. 

“No, I feel like shit.” Stiles reported back. 

The bed sank dramatically as Scott fell into it, knees first. Stiles bounced around while Scott got comfortable beside him. “Do you remember what you did on Tuesday?” Scott inquired. 

“Yesterday?” Stiles tried to recall, where had he been? 

“No, Tuesday. Today is Thursday. you’ve been sleeping for almost 36 hours straight. Give or take a couple hours when I got you up to use the bathroom--That was gross, you owe me.” 

“What?! Are you kidding me?” Stiles guts flip flopped, what had Scott done to him? 

“No, so...do you remember?” Scott didn’t seem upset, but he also wasn’t happy or joking, so it obviously wasn’t humiliating, or funny. He wasn’t good with the deadpan humor. 

Stiles scanned his mind, concentrating on his memories of Derek’s loft, he knew he’d been there since Saturday. He remembered talking to Bran, the weird dude from Australia who had a brother that had been bitten. He thought that was pretty late Tuesday. He remembered opening another energy drink to wash down a couple of Adderall...Three Adderall.

His stomach sank into his knees. He had done terrible things. It all came back to him. His heart started pounding, reverberating in his ears. He felt Isaac’s hand grab his shoulder again. 

_What the fuck had he done?_

Isaac and Scott helped him relive it all. He just didn’t believe some of it. He cried some, but mostly he just felt really ashamed that he had lost it so badly, and what he had done to Derek. In the middle of all the shit going on the last thing anyone needed was him losing his fucking mind because he decided to shovel a bunch of pharmaceutical grade meth down his throat. 

He had been treating it like it was safe somehow, like because it was prescribed it couldn’t really hurt him. He used it like it was some sort of magic pill that could make him smarter, and fix him so he didn’t need sleep. Sober, and ashamed, he admitted to Scott, and himself, that obviously it wasn’t true. He had known all along what could happen to him if he kept doing it; he just convinced himself he was immune, because he wanted to be. 

It was really fucking childish and stupid. He had no idea how he was going to apologize to everyone. He laid in bed reliving every excruciating moment he could remember until he cringed in shame, and couldn’t hold back his hot, stinging tears of self pity. He rubbed his face hard and tried to think of ways to apologize, but he just kept coming back to what he was apologizing for. 

In the midst of all the horrible memories though, was this weird hallucination he recalled. He remembered his Mom being there, like really there, in the flesh and holding him. He knew it couldn’t be real, but he could smell her and feel her hands on his scalp; running her long nails through his hair and down his neck softly, to sooth him. He felt like he was betraying his friends completely by being thankful for the hallucination. He wanted so badly to close his eyes and revel in the memory, but he couldn’t until someone gave him permission. 

“Hey Scott,” Stiles called out quietly from under his arm. Scott and Isaac had started up a two player game. It was Scott’s idea, he was hoping he could play for more than a few seconds without getting killed if Isaac had his back. 

“Yeah?” Scott didn’t look over at first, but when Stiles didn’t respond he paused the game. He could hear both of them turn around, but he kind of knew Isaac was looking at him, and he looked pitiful as fuck. He didn’t care. 

“I think... I hallucinated my Mom, and it was kinda...great” He choked on his words, the familiar, almost comforting feeling of loss flooded him. It was something he knew how to deal with, something he had lived with for a long time now. He wasn’t afraid of it and he had no one to answer to for it. 

The bed sank again and part of him expected it to be Scott, but he knew it was Isaac. He felt Isaac pushing his legs off the bed, his huge hands grabbed Stiles forearms and pulled him up. He didn’t fight it, but he didn’t help much, not until it meant the difference between falling over and sitting upright. 

Isaac’s lanky arm surrounded his shoulder. Stiles tolerated it, but he wasn’t sure why. He didn’t want to be up or facing the world right now, not at all. He also didn’t want anyone to be nice to him like this, or comfort him. Isaac leaned in and started to speak, stumbling on his words. He could feel the same prickling on his spine and neck, it tingled and built up as Isaac talked himself into speaking. 

“It was Erica.” Isaac stated quietly, his arm gripping tightly. Stiles heard the words but didn’t understand them at first. The memory of his Mom, and the girl he knew named Erica, were so far apart in his mind he couldn’t make the leap until his recollection confirmed it. 

He remembered.

Right before he left, Boyd had helped him get into a different shirt and Erica had cleaned off his face. She embraced him as he stood in the bathroom, looking around confused and high, knowing only that he was hurt and in a lot of trouble. 

“I don’t want to ruin this memory of your Mom or whatever, but you need to know it was Erica. And if it hadn’t been her, it would have been me, or Boyd. That’s the way things work now and you need to remember it. It’s better this way. Do you understand?” Isaac pressed his other hand into Stiles chest, the silent communication said to him _' You’re pack, remember it.'_

The tears he had saved up for days came pouring out of him. It was too hard to be this, he had felt it over and over. The blinding inadequacy in the face of these terrifying supernatural creatures never stopped feeling overwhelming. He could easily blame it for his desire to find superpowers in a pill bottle, but he was smarter than that. The last thing he needed was to push off responsibility on someone else, he’d been abusing the pills long before the pack was a thing.

The bed rolled again as Scott climbed up and leaned against his back. The weight of his best friend against him reminded him that he was still in the room. Scott rolled over and took up the space on the other side of him, hanging his arm over Isaac’s and leaning into Stiles. He wrapped a hand around Stiles head and pulled it to him, knocking their skulls together clumsily. 

Tears streamed down his face unchecked, he didn’t hide them or wipe them away. There was nothing left to do but just let it all pour out of him till the poisonous feelings had left his system. It didn’t take long to feel exhausted and dried out. Isaac scrubbed the tears off his face with his hand, and when that just left his cheeks covered with burning salty tears he used the bottom of his shirt. He was rough, but well intentioned, Stiles let him do what he needed to. 

They talked to each other, and him, though he didn’t respond much. They sat right next to him, resolved to stay until he felt a little more normal. They made some random conversation and told him about cleaning out his Jeep, something they had to do before his Dad snooped around. They also congratulated him on the awesome lasagna in the freezer. They had eaten the whole thing, all 12 servings worth. He took a moment to be annoyed by that. He had spent hours putting that together. 

Eventually he heard his Dad come into the house. Scott and Isaac got quiet, they both put on sober faces. They were bound together, team Stiles. He could tell they were both a little scared for him. He got up, using their shoulders as leverage. He took a step toward the door and felt Isaac’s hand grab his wrist. 

The anxiety on Isaac’s face instantly explained his death grip. He looked at Stiles, then the door, his whole body tensed, ready to grab Stiles and make a run for it. His mouth moved like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out. His eyes begged for an answer to a question he couldn’t even force himself to ask. 

Stiles knew about Isaac’s Dad, he knew about the freezer and the beatings he took. “It’ll be okay, It’s not like that.” Stiles reassured him. He brought his hand up and clasped Isaac’s wrist in return, turning his death grip into a symbol of solidarity. Isaac pursed his lips together and nodded, he reluctantly let go of Stiles and let him walk away. 

Downstairs his Father was depositing all of his gear from work. He had worked a double shift, swing and overnight, again. He was patrolling the rural area’s around the preserve. He looked tired, but when he saw Stiles his face crumpled in concern and sympathy.

He hadn’t thought about how he looked before he came down, but seeing the reflection in his Father’s expression he knew it was bad. He couldn’t hold himself back when his Dad grabbed him and crushed him in a suffocating hug. A fresh waterfall of tears streamed out of him relentlessly. 

A minute later his Dad was wiping him down with a cold wet towel. His paternal instinct was to care and protect: before anything was said his Dad would run down his checklist of requirements. He insisted Stiles blow his nose and then gave him a fresh washcloth. He wrapped it around Stiles neck and sat him down. He got a big glass of water and made a peanut butter sandwich. 

The smell of the peanut butter made his stomach rumble loudly. As he devoured his sandwich his Dad made him another. As he watched his Dad put away the sandwich things he realized how well he had been taken care of by the people around him. 

There was this huge crazy secret, this whole supernatural world he felt like he could barely handle most of the time, but they were all living in it. Even his Dad, who was miraculously still in the dark. He fought and survived because all of these amazing people around him. They always came to the rescue, he always came to the rescue with them. 

Every time he felt tested, every time it tested him, it always came back to the same thing. This was the best thing he had ever had in his life, and the price of it was that it was also the worst thing that had ever happened to him. Exactly like all of the werewolves. 

The revelations calmed him, steeled his resolve, reaffirmed his commitment. He didn’t just have his Dad anymore, he had five other people in his life that would care for him, just like his Dad did. Not because they had to, but because they wanted to, because he mattered. He never imagined in his life that he would have so many ties, so much safety again. 

The kitchen was clean. He was fed, calm, and relatively whole. His Dad sat down and rested his arms on the table. 

“You really look like hell kid...” 

Stiles clutched the glass of water, looking for an anchor, safety from his own explanation of the events that got him here. “I know” 

“Scott and Isaac explained that you took a bunch of Adderall and kinda lost it, they said that how you hurt your hand.” His Dad pointed at the scabs on his right knuckles. Stiles hadn’t thought about them, they didn’t really hurt, but they were stiff. 

“That little shit tried to lie to me, but I caught him in it.” His Dad eyed him, looking for an indication that the lying was his idea. 

“Yeah, I really screwed things up Dad.” His voice was strong, thankfully, but his guts rolled with regret and it came out in his tone. “We were hanging out with some friends, you know them Erica Reyes, Vernon Boyd and Derek Hale.” He watched his Dad’s reaction to Derek’s name. He was surprised, but obviously he had resolved to listen to whatever horrible story his son told him without much judgement. 

“The other two I understand, but why Derek Hale?” 

“Well you know, he’s all alone. He’s kinda been taking care of Isaac since--you know.” 

“How did they even meet?” 

“The Cemetery.” 

“Oh...” His Dad said quietly, looking at his hands uncomfortably. Isaac had spent a lot of time with Derek’s family, working in the graveyard, tending their graves. 

“Derek is the one who kinda...saved me.” He let the statement sink into his own head as much as his Dad’s. “I mean I don’t know what would have happened. I could have been fine I guess, but he saw me take the pills. He asked me about it and I got really angry. I had just taken them, and when they started to hit me... I kinda, lost it.” 

His Dad listened, nodding his head and pursing his lips, the only evidence of his disapproval. 

“I--I...” Stiles took a deep breath and collected himself, he told himself he had to tell this story, the real one. The truth. “I punched him, and I punched a wall. Then I punched him again, and did a lot of other bad things to him...because he took the pills away from me.” Stiles watched his hand tremble as he reached for the glass of water. He drank and continued. 

“He restrained me for long enough that I wore myself out, then he asked me to drink a bunch of water and throw up the pills, so I did. After that Erica and Boyd took care of me and everyone else cleaned up the mess I made.” His confession hung in the air. Neither of them knew what to say, but it was his Dad who broke the silence. 

“It sounds like you owe Derek an apology.” His Dad stated, or really, understated. He nodded in agreement. “Is Derek okay? It sounds like you thrashed him pretty good.”

“I think he’s okay, I need to find out.” 

“Yes you do.” His Dad added emphatically. He knew his son was no longer in danger, now he was working out what needed to be done about the situation. “Did you break anything we need to replace?” 

“No I don’t think so” 

“Find that out too.” 

“I will” 

His Dad searched all over his face, probably looking for some clue that would help him say the right thing, or do something constructive. He looked sad, and worn out. 

“I’m sorry Dad.” He felt tears pooling in his eyes again, he reached out and turned the glass in his hands again, watching the water stand still and the glass moved around it. 

“Son, I have to know that you understand that good grades isn’t worth this? And that this isn’t the way to go about getting them, obviously.” 

“I know...I’m never taking them ever again. I don’t need them Dad. I haven’t for awhile, I just liked how they worked, so I kept taking them.” 

“Didn’t your Psychiatrist know better?” His Dad asked, looking for an explanation as to how this happened. 

“He screened me and I lied. I said what I needed to, so I could keep getting the prescription.” He admitted. If he couldn’t tell his Dad the truth about the pack, he would tell him everything else. 

“Stiles...” The disapproval in his Dad’s face and voice were almost too much for him, but he straightened himself and leaned into the table. He rubbed his face and nose, trying to sober himself against his fears and disappointment in himself. 

“This is all on me Dad. I messed up, I am going to fix it.” He presented himself, taking full responsibility. 

“Do you know how? I don't even know where to begin...” His Dad rubbed his forehead roughly, pressing his eyebrows together, then ran his hand down his face. 

“I understand you might want to punish me, but I honestly don’t know how you would.” His Dad nodded, raising his eyebrows in agreement at his sons observation. “I need to fix this with my friends, and I need to have them around me right now.” He thought about Scott and Isaac upstairs in his room, waiting, probably listening to the conversation behind his door. 

“I agree.” His Dad said surprisingly. 

“I need to be as normal as I can be right now...I need to be with them and do fun things and not let this other crap dictate every decision I make.” He gestured with his hand, encompassing what his Dad thought was the pressures of college entrance exams and school. “I can be trusted to be in charge of my life, and I need the opportunity to do it while I feel this way. When I can really learn from it. I can’t be stuck in this house feeling miserable and stupid for making a huge mistake.” 

His Dad nodded his agreement and set his jaw. He reached across the table and grabbed Stiles hand. He squeezed it and let it go. 

“There comes a time in everyone’s life Son, that the natural consequences the world throws at you are much bigger, and more effective at teaching than any punishment your dumb old Dad can dish out.” He shook his head in disbelief and continued. “I think it’s finally your time...I hope you know I’ll be paying attention though, and I’ve asked Scott to let me know if anything like this happens again. I know he cares about your safety more than if you’re mad at him, so I know I can trust him to let me know.” 

“Yeah, you can.” 

“I got rid of all your pills in the medicine cabinet. If you need medical help--” 

“No Dad, it’s okay. I’m not going to have withdrawals or anything. I didn't take them everyday.”

“So you were saving them up?” His Dad knew about addict behavior, he was a police officer. He felt terrible because he had hidden it all from him really well and now he was going to unravel all of his efforts and admit them to his Dad. He was going to feel incredibly deceived, but Stiles had to do it. It was too late to go back now. 

“Yes”

“Do you have a stash?” His Dad asked in disbelief. 

“Yes, and I’d like to get it now, and you can take it all.” Stiles offered up, he was nervous but he tried his best to sound unafraid. 

“Okay lets go.” His Dad got up and waited for Stiles to go first. He slowly lifted himself up from his chair and turned toward the hall, he felt like this was the longest walk of his life. 

“It’ll be okay kid.” His Dad said behind him and clapped him on the shoulders. Stiles tried his hardest to believe him. 

The bathroom was just as he left it, minus his pill bottles in the cabinet. He reached into the linen closet and pulled a bottle from behind a hinge, it had fit perfectly there unseen, so he had left it. He walked to his room and his Dad followed. 

“Hi boys.” His Dad greeted Scott and Isaac, who were pretending to play a video game. They watched silently as he opened his desk drawer and unearthed another bottle that he had hidden in a roll of toilet paper he used to blow his nose. It had been here since the night Lydia had visited him. He went to his LaCrosse bag and found his third and final bottle. He had refilled his prescription for 3 months twice when he changed psychiatrists. He sweated it for a few days after he filled them, but no one had noticed. He was the Sheriff's son, and he had been taking them for so long no one questioned him. 

He motioned to Scott for help and he dumped out his backpack on the floor. They found a few pills that had made their way to the bottom, the way things do in backpacks and purses. He searched his drawers, his LaCrosse bag. Scott and Isaac sniffed out a couple more as casually as they could. 

His Dad looked on stoically as they removed any trace of the amphetamines. Saving Stiles from accidentally finding some in the future and potentially losing his resolve. 

“You had 4 bottles?” his Dad asked, the deception was hard for him to process. 

“I had 6--” 

His Dad cut him off. “How in god’s name did you get 6 bottles Stiles!?” 

Stiles explained, he was completely honest. it had nothing at all to do with the wolves so he gave his Dad every detail. In true cop form he grabbed a pencil, and paper from his printer. He wrote down every detail. Assuring Stiles that he would not do anything legal against anyone he had deceived, that he just wanted to make sure that other people couldn’t get away with the same thing in the future. 

“So I got rid of one, here’s three more, where are the other two?” His Dad ticked off the bottles in his notes. 

“Derek flushed them.” Scott spoke up. 

His Dad nodded intent, sad, but approving of Derek’s actions. He shook his head slowly and re read his notes. The three of them sat and waited for the Sheriff’s final questions, if there were any. 

“I really--” His Dad looked down at the notes again like he had missed something, he took a deep breath and continued. “I want to thank you boys for being such good friends to my Son.” The Sheriff grabbed Scott’s hand and pulled him in for a hug, patting him on the back proudly. He turned to Isaac and hesitated, Stiles had told him Isaac was really terrified of him still. Isaac launched himself at the Sheriff, the distance was short, but the young werewolf was caught up in the moment. His Dad let out a low groan as Isaac laid into him, but he caught the young man with the appropriate amount of gusto. He laughed and patted him on the back with both hands. 

He stepped back from the embrace with a big smile and put his arm around Stiles. He knew his Dad felt special that Isaac trusted and approved of him enough to hug him that way, it put him in a temporary good mood. His Dad walked him to his bedroom door and followed him out to the hallway. 

“I’m going to say it again kid, I’ll be paying attention. I know I can trust Scott, but you...” His Dad shook his hand at him in mild frustration. “You got one over on me. I’d like for that to not happen again because you just won’t do it, but you’re going to have to prove it to me.” He put his hands on Stiles shoulders and pulled him in for another hug. “This is different, this between you and me. This whole thing, it explains a lot of weird behavior. You haven’t been this honest with me in a long time...and I just want to say thank you, you know I love you.” 

Stiles wanted so badly to tell him about everything else, he didn’t know what he would say if he opened his mouth, so he just nodded against the side of his Dad’s head.

“Tell your friends to come down and eat soon...You need to take a shower.” His Dad held him at arms length again and made a face at his stink. “Call your other friends, see what you can do about patching things up, and if it works out invite them over tonight. I’ll buy some pizza--I know..I know, It’ll be a LOT of pizza...” He cringed and shook his head. Stiles pinched the front of his shirt and let it fall back down. The stench that rose from the neckline of his t-shirt was truly disgusting. His Dad chuckled silently at his facial expression, and turned to walk down the stairs, but turned back and raised his hand to Stiles before he was out of view. 

“Oh, and make sure that Derek knows he’s welcome. I’d like to thank him especially, and make any reparations in person, if we need to.” His Dad raised his eyebrows, making a point that this was as non negotiable as a request could possibly be. 

He nodded again and his Dad disappeared down the stairs. 

The three of them discussed the plan of action for the day, back in the privacy of his room. Stiles sent Derek a text message and asked him to call if he could. He hovered nervously over the send button, his gut wrenched and his heart pounded with the nervousness and dread of sending the message. Scott nudged him and looked at him like he was nuts. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and dove in. 

It was all he could do to keep the anxiety in check as he waited for Derek’s response. He paced to the door and back to the desk, his gut doing somersaults, he tapped his phone against his chest compulsively. Isaac and Scott watched him, their eyes following his movements like he was about to commit a crime. 

He didn’t need witnesses to this conversation. 

He ran to the bathroom, his phone gripped so tightly in his hand his knuckles were white. Once locked safely inside he tore off his clothes and jumped in the shower. There wasn’t enough room to pace in the bathroom. He turned the water scalding hot and let the sensation of burning tune out the anxiety.

The second he heard his text alert he threw his body out the open shower door, half drowning his phone with a wet hand. 

_1 min -D_

It baffled him that Derek took the time to find the dash symbol and function key, but couldn’t type out a clear message, some clue as to his mood? 

He held his phone too tightly and pressed buttons making it buzz. He put it back on the counter reluctantly, and dropped his hand to his leg with a loud wet slap. He felt defeated. The thoughts of what he would say when Derek did call flooded through him and cut to pieces his already raw nerves. He fell against the wall of the shower and stretched his misused body out, the sensation of stretching felt amazing under the scalding water. He brought his hand to his face and rubbed his eyes too harshly. 

He felt desperate and so scared that he had done something to Derek that he could never take back. Something that would ruin what they had, whatever it was. He thought about the conversation they had about Erica, how she fought, how in that moment he realized he was really a part of all this. He wasn’t a sidekick. That his relationship with Derek was so much more than screwing around. He felt like a partner, like an equal, like he really mattered and he could do something good, on a larger scale than just making sure Scott stayed alive. 

A light knock sounded against the door, Stiles looked up at the doorknob, he had remembered to lock it. He didn’t want to talk to anyone else. He needed to get this burden off his chest with Derek, however it was going to go, that’s all he cared about right now. 

“I’m fine, I’ll be down... in a minute.” He yelled at the door. The overwhelming sensation of Derek descended upon him. His mind was manufacturing sensations out of his distress, he must be moments away from a panic attack. He shouldn’t have worked himself up this much. 

He still wasn’t opening the door. He knew he would live through it on his own, plus he couldn’t explain this to whomever was on the other side. None of them had ever tried to beat the shit out of their boyfriend while they were high on amphetamines, this sort of thing was out of their league. 

The counter buzzed and he leaned out again to see the screen. _’Let me in! -D’_

The light knock repeated. He got out and wrapped a towel around himself. It was all he could do to reach over and unlock the door. He was not entirely sure about the reality of what this looked like. Between the potential coincidence, and the audacity it would take for Derek to sneak into his house while his Dad was home, and awake, it was too unbelieveable. 

The door creeped open and Derek’s face popped around the edge. 

“What are you doing here?” Stiles asked incredulously, as he stepped back making room for Derek to get around the door. He peeked out the cracked door, into the hallway as he closed it. He let it latch and quietly locked it again. He was being stealthy enough, Stiles was unsure if Scott or Isaac even knew he was here. 

A smile stretched across Derek’s face as he turned his attention to Stiles.  
“You look okay, you smell awful, but you look okay.” He whispered. 

Derek reached over and brushed his wet matted hair off his forehead. He couldn’t believe Derek was here, in his bathroom, showing him affection. 

It was the insult that did it, the dig on his meth stench. This was really real, not another hallucination or some trick his mind was playing on him, he threw himself around Derek’s neck. He squeezed tighter than anyone human would be comfortable with, but Derek just sunk his face into Stiles neck and let himself suffocate. Derek’s arms wrapped around him tightly, they held each other for a long time before Stiles spoke. 

“I’m sorry--I’m so, so sorry.” He stuttered out, forgetting to be quiet. Derek hushed him, but he didn’t understand. “No, what I did was so fucking crazy--” 

Derek pulled him back, he held his finger to his mouth and shushed him. “Seriously, your Dad kinda likes me right now, so lets **not** get me caught in your bathroom, okay?” 

“Oh my god, I’m sorry.” Stiles whispered. “Why are you here?” 

“I was waiting outside.” 

“But, why are you here?” Stiles implored. 

“I had to make sure you were okay. I got here a couple hours ago.” Derek explained. 

Stiles shook his head in disbelief. “You didn’t have to come here, I would have been happy with a quick _’Don’t h8 u -D’_ “Stiles hissed out. He was already tired of whispering. He went to the radio and turned on NPR, the droning sound of educational programming invaded the room. 

When he turned his head back, Derek had dropped his jacket, he took off his shirt and hung it on the hinge behind the door. Stiles watched him, unable to look away, he was so incredibly gorgeous. He reached down and pulled off his boots gingerly. Stiles waited for the rest of it to come off, his expectation was different this time. He watched Derek move toward him with the appreciation he had when he looked up Lefèvre paintings, his mind wasn’t void of the lustful anticipation Derek usually incited, it was just at the bottom of the list of things Stiles found meaningful right now. 

There was no way he deserved any of this, but here it was, and he wasn’t going to say no. Derek grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the shower. Stiles followed, willingly, blindly. 

“You have to wash all that off you..You have no idea what it smells like--I just can’t stop thinking about--” Derek cut himself off and gently pushed him into the shower. Stiles understood what he meant. 

Derek helped him scrub every inch of his skin. He probably wouldn’t have gotten it all by himself, which would have meant lingering olfactory reminders for the wolves in his life. The process felt like a baptism, washing away the last evidence of his sins. 

He was pink all over and invigorated when they were done. He felt like a completely different person than the terrified, anxious asshole that walked in to the bathroom earlier. He wanted to go downstairs and eat, He wanted to talk to Isaac and Scott, He wanted to thank Erica and Boyd. He wanted Derek to come with him. He didn’t want more complications though, so he refrained from asking. 

As he dried himself off Derek put his shoes back on and replaced his clothes. When Derek picked up his jacket from the floor Stiles heard a heavy sigh escape from his lungs. He turned around and faced Stiles like he was looking at a firing squad. 

“I have to tell you something.” Derek looked more menacing than he had seen him look in a long time. His face darkened and he scowled, grinding his teeth together absently as he looked off, seemingly searching for the words he wanted. “Erica emphasised **in great detail** why I should keep this to myself right now, but--” He stopped short, shaking his head. 

“You were really honest with your Dad about everything.” Derek stated his case. Stiles had known he was being listened in on by wolves, he just didn't know Derek had been one of them. He felt like he had nothing to hide from the pack anymore, so he didn’t really care. He nodded and Derek continued. 

“Erica told me you were too fragile, emotionally, to deal with more stuff. Boyd told me to be honest, completely and just hope shit went well... and since I’m a big dumb guy, I guess thats what I have to do.” Derek finished his preface and explained to Stiles what imprinting was, then admitted he had tipped over the edge; the boundary the pack kept up for people who were close, but not pack, like he and Scott. 

Stiles understood the science of it, the non human perception of the electrical waves that emanated from the brain and body. There were computers disabled people used called Thought Translation Devices that could pick up and decipher those waves. The brain was a more efficient and complex computer than anything man could build by hand, so it all made sense to him how it worked, roughly. It was obvious why he had done it, but Stiles still wasn’t sure what it meant. 

“I get it, wolfy powers activate. You can keep tabs on me like one of your puppies, so--” 

“No, you just--” Derek looked frustrated, and disappointed in himself. “It’s not all about the science Stiles. I made a connection with you, and now you have a connection to _us_ ” Derek emphasized. 

The tingling on his neck, Derek’s presence through the door. It wasn’t as hard to talk to him, he knew what Derek wanted to say before he said it. He knew what enigmatic Isaac had hiding behind his weird expressions...

“I thought I had just gotten to know you really well.” Stiles admitted. 

“In one week? Stiles?” Derek looked incredulous, he shook his head. “I shouldn’t have done it without your permission, don’t you understand?” 

“Yeah, I do. I wish you had asked me. You shouldn’t have done that.” He agreed, he never wanted to be told what to do, or be left out of decisions that affected him so much. He wanted to care about that, he knew he should, but he had just been handed a superpower. A limited one as far as he could tell, but it was an honest to god, not normal human, comic book hero super power. 

“Is anything going to happen to me?” Stiles asked, excited but a little worried still. 

“No, not as far as I know. We had humans in our pack before the fire, they were just ordinary people, family, as far as I remember.” 

“So I can like, tap into Isaac’s thoughts, can I do it from here? Can I read your mind?” Stiles reached out for Derek’s face but he grabbed his hands before Stiles could get there. 

“I beg to differ, this could make quite an amazing game.” A suggestive smile engulfed his face. Derek smiled back. He didn’t play along though. 

“Stiles..” 

“Okay, Okay. So, I win at being an asshole, but you’re one too. Let’s stop okay?” 

Derek nodded, knowing he was simplifying this way too much. Stiles knew things would change later, when he had time to process, but he had priorities. He wanted to dig into this his way, in the way he did when he wanted to dissect something for it’s parts and pieces, when he had a problem to solve. He would process the rest of it, understand how he felt about it, later. 

Derek leaned into the door, about to check for witnesses to his escape. 

“Wait--” Stiles called him back. “Are we?-- I guess, I feel like we’re okay?” 

Derek thought about it for a second, he looked like he was at a loss for words. The tortured perplexity of his expression made Stiles want to let him off the hook. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear whatever had inspired Derek’s difficulty. 

He was about to tell him to go, not to worry, they could talk later, when Derek suddenly resolved something in his mind and came toward him with intention. Stiles could feel something descend around him, like a weightless gust of air was about to pass through him. He braced himself in anticipation, his breath caught in his lungs. Derek reached up and wrapped his hands around the back of Stiles neck. He brought their foreheads together and leaned his nose into Stiles’. 

He closed his eyes, anxiously waiting for some profound thing to invade him, but nothing came. He felt the familiar sensation start at the base of his skull, but the intensity amplified and wash over his head. He felt disembodied, but acutely aware of everything around him. It was like waking up in bed and knowing you aren’t alone, even though none of your basic senses could perceive the other person in the room with you. 

The visions came softly into his mind, at first he wondered if he was imagining it, but context felt so foreign. It felt like Derek. He recalled the loft, but it was strange. It wasn’t exactly the loft he remembered. It was more spacious, more jagged looking. The scents that hung in the air were how he imagined an old western town from the movies would be like. Sharp, dusty, animalistic. The blue couch was gorgeous, the rust stained wall behind it looked like intentional art, and the staircase was bigger, more dramatic. The memory shifted to the bedroom. Erica and Boyd were there laughing, and wrestling. Dressed like they’d just been sleeping. 

Erica had joy radiating off her in waves, her skin glowed like the moonlight. Her long blonde hair and blood red smile were perfect, the most striking, radiant thing he’d ever seen. Erica was special, familial; Sister, Daughter, Mother. Derek felt pride, admiration. Stiles understood that Erica was the only flawless thing Derek had ever accomplished. In his mind he had found something damaged and fixed it, now it was bright like a diamond, immaculate in his mind. 

Boyd was dark, almost maniacal, but it felt like it was a good thing for him to be. It was how Erica wanted him to be. The animal in him was pulsing through his veins, he was enjoying himself, he was enjoying his contact with Erica. His skin was warm and enticing, his eyes glowed a deep bronze. Their presence was significant, meaningful.

The blankets were thin, the grey looked drab and lifeless. He felt longing, need. He wanted something, he wanted to remember something. He reached out for a pillow and took in the scent left behind. It wasn’t faint or lingering. It was powerful and passionate. Woodsy, citrus and honey, like the smell of oak bark on a hot day after a rain. It stirred up his mind, whipping his heart into a frenzy of desire and happiness. He grappled the feeling, trying to draw it out as long as possible. Eventually the memory bit him back. Darkness and pain stabbed his chest. Guilt, it colored everything, the air hung with it. 

Erica pounced on him mischievously, he wasn’t surprised or annoyed. She settled into him and the contact felt good, like a warm blanket on a cold day. Then she was gone. He was left alone in the bed. The smell, the perfection, was all still there but it was just out of sight. Like some evil bully was holding it just out of his grasp. 

Then he was driving. His car was awesome. The interior felt like a fighter plane, he knew he was driving a three thousand pound bullet, sleek and deadly. The sensation was familiar, exhilarating but comforting.

Then he was here, in this bathroom, standing on this spot looking at Stiles, himself. He was far more beautiful to Derek than he had ever imagined himself to be. The cut of his muscles was more pronounced, his skin was flawless, but the moles on his face danced as he spoke. He liked looking at them. In Derek’s mind he looked like a Caravaggio painting, all white skin and frailty, his lips stark and pink, a darkness surrounded him. The contrast illuminated him against the background of the world. 

The acrid stench coming off him felt awful in comparison. A dull sensation of fear, terror really, washed over him. It smelled like an unkempt mechanics shop and something dead. He felt trapped, he wanted to run out the door, but the water cascading down in the shower held the promise of salvation. He watched the scene he had just experienced through Derek’s eyes and felt the relief as the last of the horrible memories washed down the drain. 

He watched himself dry off. The glow, the pleasure derived from watching himself move, and speak was overwhelming and hard to process. The world rippled around him as he observed. The perspective of his surroundings changed dramatically as Derek’s eyes stayed centered on himself, the hub, the center of the universe, the thing everything else revolved around. 

His own face was close, his head was tipped back, the veins in his throat pulsed and he could hear his own own heartbeat. The sound was more enticing than the power of all his favorite songs put together. The feeling, the weight in his arms was light and dense at the same time, the gravity of him having nothing to do with the substance of his body. He had to be careful, always...fragile, beautiful, like holding an eggshell in his fingertips, suspended over a deep dark ravine. His lips were flushed, red, and his eyes were huge glassy pools of promise. Everything those eyes saw was special, profound. 

He felt the breath on his face as Derek tipped his head back, breaking the intense connection. The kiss was real, right now. It was the only thing that existed. It dulled the chaos of emotions in his mind, swept them away for another time.


	4. Miles to Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claws sunk lightly into the doorframe as his arms trembled. The familiar fountain of adrenaline and anger was nowhere in sight. His eyes burned bright behind his tightly shut eyelids. He was a fucking mess.

Scents of cut grass and watered lawns drifted in through the window. He looked out at the bright blue summer sky. It was a shade of turquoise he never knew existed before, or maybe he never had the ability to appreciate it like this. 

Stiles knew better than to appreciate something too much. He pulled his arm over his face, sinking his nose into the crook of his elbow. He could sleep more, but procuring darkness meant getting up to close his blinds. 

Being awake meant remembering yesterday, which was both thrilling and embarrassing. 

_“I love you,” Stiles said, bringing his lips down on Derek’s._

_Desire and recklessness came crashing down on them as they fell into the door, grappling against it as they kissed. They couldn’t stay in the bathroom, they would make too much noise. They reluctantly separated. Derek peeked out the door. Satisfied the way was clear, they dashed across the hall, locking the door behind them._

_He pushed Derek against the back of the door, holding onto the front of his shirt menacingly. “My house, my rules, Hale...”_

_Clenching the short hair on the back of his head, Derek pulled back, crushing Stiles against his chest. The kiss was deep, more vicious than he’d come to expect. Derek caught Stiles up in his arms and pushed off the door. They fell over on the bed together, making too much noise, but not caring._

_Derek was all tongue and teeth, Stiles could feel his fangs sliding through, crowding his mouth. Derek reached up and pulled back his head again, baring his neck like a long white trophy. He ran his teeth over Stiles sensitive flesh, raking his tongue down to Stiles’ chest. Derek’s thumb pressed into his jaw painfully, he pushed Stiles’ head further to the side and buried his face, letting out a plaintive moan as he stopped his teeth from breaking skin._

_Complete and utter submission was all Derek wanted from him. He stretched his neck further, pulling the frail tendons and muscle to their limit. Derek wanted him to know how easy it would be to tear him apart, but trust him not to, no matter what happened. He held his breath as Derek’s hand slid between them, his fingers tightening around Stiles as he rested his teeth against the skin of his’ neck. His mouth traveled slowly over Stiles’ skin, his hand stroked firmly, rewarding Stiles’ compliance._

_A low growl shook the bones of his chest. He felt breakable, like his bones could shake apart if Derek made enough noise. He should be terrified, he should at least open his eyes, but he was too close to climax. He stopped caring, he let everything go. Every shred of control he pretended he had over the world evaporated. His hands balled into fists, gripping his blanket tight as he dragged ragged breaths into his lungs. His body jerked and spasmed. Derek’s hand covered his mouth as he cried out._

_Whatever happened to him next was the will of the universe, god, fate, whatever unknown force that moved them all like pieces on a chessboard. He was ready to accept whatever life threw at him._

_Weight lifted off him and the hand disappeared from his mouth. Derek disappeared out the window, not giving either of them a chance to say good bye._

He actually thought something more was going to happen right before Derek disappeared. He had no idea what, but he wanted it to be big. He wanted Derek to say ‘I love you’ back, maybe he expected Derek to bite him, or finally fuck him properly instead of everything else, except. Nothing happened, but everything happened. 

Sure, Derek sent him a text saying they would all be over Friday, but that was it. He hadn’t heard anything else. He hadn’t made any valiant attempts at communication either, to be fair. He needed time, Derek needed time. They both needed to feel like themselves again. If he felt like anything, it was himself. Scott said he was all snark and sarcasm again, which felt pretty great. 

Two days with the bubblehead twins and he was ready to hang out with anyone else though. They had been playing Call of Duty and stuffing themselves full of junk food for too long. The only useful thing they had done was go out to the Hale house so Scott and Isaac could patrol. 

When they left to make a long run around the mountain he opened the front door and sat on the bottom step. The pitch black house smelled like ash and death. He let himself feel it, what it must have been like for Derek to come back to this place, and call it home for so long. 

The only time he felt afraid was when he saw a flash of blue in the woods. Eyes burning like blue fireflies. He thought it might be Peter, so he reached out with his mind, warning him to stay far away. Nothing happened, not until much later when a coyote ran across the short grass that used to be the front yard. He almost didn't see it, it was going so fast. He ran to the edge of the porch and watched it bounce away into the forest. Peter had probably scared it to death. 

A knock sounded at the door, snapping him back to reality. 

“One sec!” he called out. He rushed to his dresser and threw on some shorts and his red hoodie. 

Downstairs there was leftover breakfast hanging out on the stove for him. Scott said hi returned to telling his dad a story about LaCrosse practice. Stiles noticed the tilt of the storytelling was not in his favor, soon it de-evolved into a full fledged verbal showdown. Scott’s Version vs. Stiles Version. The battle came to an abrupt grinding halt when Isaac interjected. 

“You both suck,” Isaac shook his head, he was absently chewing on his twentieth slice of bacon. Stiles glowered at him and resumed eating, Scott just stared at him, in this deeply butthurt way. Isaac straightened up when he saw Scott’s face. “Oh, I didn’t mean -- I was only jo --” 

Scott busted out laughing and punched Isaac playfully in the gut, cutting him off before he could apologize more. 

“So have you guys been doing a lot of LaCrosse practice lately?” His dad asked.

Scott and Isaac both looked at him as the head agent for Mission: Keep The Sheriff in the Dark Without Lying.

“Yeah, we’ve been training and researching for the last week or so, we take breaks to eat and screw off, but It’s all been one kind of work or the other.” 

Level 1 ‘Honesty’ achievement unlocked. 

Scott straightened himself and looked at the floor, a little perplexed. It took a minute for him to realize that Stiles statement didn’t actually give anything away. 

“Well, how long has it been since you guys have taken a proper day off?” His dad asked, pressing further. 

“The last couple days we haven’t done much. We went for a run last night. Before that it was what? A couple weeks non-stop? A little less for these guys, since I was the one with the big plans.” Stiles answered for all of them again. 

Scott’s mouth hung open a little as he squinted, his eyes shifting back and forth as he thought about everything Stiles said. Scott was a terrible liar, this was why. He was just thankful all his dad could see of Scott right now, was the back of his head. 

“Well, why don’t we plan on being outside tonight instead of pizza? Barbeque? We can uncover the back porch, drag out that deck furniture. I’ll make ribeye.” His dad offered, acting like he needed to talk them into it. 

Scott perked up and elbowed Isaac in the ribs, letting him know this was a big deal. “That would be awesome. I’m super down for that!” Scott smiled and Isaac agreed with him like he knew exactly what Scott was talking about. 

“Okay, we have all day, so we can clean up back there before we have company. It needs it anyways, and maybe, if your friends are into it Stiles, we can go to the river tomorrow? Hit that swimming hole on Deputy Taylors property. There’s really good fishing out there, Deputy Taylor brought us that Salmon last year.”

“Yeah, I remember, that sounds awesome. Thanks!” He smiled appreciatively and followed his dad outside while Scott and Isaac argued the finer points of swimming locations.

“You’re missing out dude, theres this tree you can jump off of down there, it’s like ten feet up, it’s rad!” Scott said. 

“The pool at school has a 10 foot diving board...” Isaac pointed out. Scott turned his head and looked at him like he was made of stupid. 

The back porch needed some work but it wasn’t anything drastic. He took note as his dad pointed out a few things. He said they would get on it soon and his dad nodded, leading the way back inside. 

“Hang out for a while, there’s no hurry,” his dad clapped him on the back and walked with him into the living room. 

Stiles stretched himself out on the couch and ottoman, crossing his ankles and throwing his arms up behind his head. Scott and Isaac had moved on to Cross Country, which they were required to join at the end of summer if they wanted to be on the LaCrosse team this year. His dad had been in Cross Country, so he had a lot more to say than usual. He crossed his arms and leaned into Scott’s shoulder, Scott leaned back. The quiet action spoke volumes, they were good. Stiles listened to the three of them, laughing when a jab was thrown, or when his Dad made some flawless observation. 

After while he tuned out the conversation completely and leaned into Scott a little more. His eyes explored the family pictures hanging on the walls. More were propped up on the shelf above the television. Some of the pictures he used to think were embarrassing. Like his school picture with the obligatory shag of hair hiding half his face, because he refused to let his dad cut it. The picture of him at camp, raising the flag. Him and his Mom on a boat on Cottage Lake when he was about 6, maybe 7. One where he was holding a big fish he definitely did not catch. 

The high school picture of his mom was his favorite. Her light auburn hair was twisted up, and her bangs were outrageously stylish for the decade. Her smile was just like his. Her skin was dotted with a constellation of moles, just like his. He closed his eyes and searched out the memory of Erica, what he knew was Erica now. He was afraid to let himself go into it, to let himself remember again. He felt like his mom was sitting in a room waiting for him, and he was pacing on the outside of the door trying to decide if he wanted to go in. He didn’t know if it was bad to indulge the memory, because it wasn’t real. 

“Stiles....Stiles?” Scott jostled him, breaking his concentration. “Are you okay dude?”

They all stared at him, waiting for confirmation he was actually okay. He wasn’t sure what he had done to make them think he wasn’t okay, but he wasn’t really. He promised to tell the truth, so he didn't have much of a choice. 

“This thing happened when I was high.” He looked over at his dad for approval to continue. His dad nodded, with a scowl,but it was permission enough. “When Erica was taking care of me, I hallucinated it was mom, and it felt real, I mean, it felt like she was right there.” 

His eyes went glassy saying it out loud. His dad leaned forward and scrubbed his eyes like they were painful, but when he brought his face back up, they were clear. 

“The same thing happened to me a couple of times, when I drank too much,” his dad confessed. 

“You never said anything....” 

“Stiles, that's not something you tell a child.” His dad stated, making it clear the only reason he was getting the information at all was because of the extenuating circumstances. “I think it’s your brain’s way of getting your attention. Shoving something in your face you can’t ignore. Something that might just derail the path you put yourself on.” 

His mom was the face he put on his own internal voice. The one that told him he needed to fix things. That was true even when he wasn’t intoxicated. 

“Yeah, that makes sense.” Stiles relaxed back into Scott’s shoulder, his hands stuffed deep in the pocket of his hoodie. 

His Dad looked relieved mostly, but sad to. He wanted to say something to make him feel better, but he knew he couldn’t. They had both learned years ago there was nothing they could do to mitigate that pain of his mom being gone, so they just stopped trying. 

“So, you boys have been training a lot lately?” His dad changed the subject. “I hope you’re not just running Finstock’s drills, he’s not a great strategist.” 

“Actually, Stiles has been teaching us a lot of new stuff to practice. We’re already a lot better than we were last year.” Isaac followed Stiles’ example and told the truth about training, as well as the example of not specifying which training he was referring to. “He’s been looking up a whole bunch of information on the science stuff. We had this whole practice the other day about anticipatory muscle reflex and how you can tell what your opponent is going to do. You know, like boxers do,” Isaac offered further, being a little too bold with the details. 

“That sounds pretty deep in it, I mean you guys aren’t just running drills then, you’re coming up with your own plays and stuff?” his dad asked.

“Well it’s more like learning the fundamentals of how to move more strategically.” Stiles interjected, he wasn’t going to get stuck coming up with a pretend playbook because someone didn’t know when to shut up. “Like how methods of movement are different when it comes to defensive and offensive actions.” 

“That sounds impressive, you gonna be team captain next year or what?” His dad smiled proudly, sitting up straighter. 

“That is the plan,’ he smiled. 

“Well, that would be something else,” His dad nodded thoughtfully. “Who else do you think is going to be on the team next year? You can’t plan real strategy until you know what you’re working with.” 

“Strategy is more of a team thing, great minds an all.” He really wanted to change the subject, chill out and relax again. 

“I was good at figuring out stuff, you remember--” Scott started. 

“Ha! are you kidding me?” Stiles couldn’t let that one slide by. 

“What are you talking about dude, I kicked ass,” Scott defended himself. 

“Need I remind you of Mankrik’s Wife?” Stiles shot at Scott pointedly. 

“What?! That is not fair! Those guys said she was inside Blackrock Mountain, he seemed like a nice guy! How was I supposed to know he was trolling us?!” 

“Three days Scott, we still never finished it!” Stiles said accusingly. 

“Hey, you know I didn’t have time for it anymore,” Scott said, no longer amused. 

"Ah, I don’t know Scott, I'd been doubting your commitment to Sparkle Motion for a while," Stiles drawled out sarcastically. 

“Sparkle Motion?” Isaac asked, confused.

“It was this stupid name Stiles came up with from this creepy ass movie that only he likes!” Scott jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow.

“It is a Donnie Darko reference! How is it my fault that the uncultured masses that play MMORPG’s don’t take the time out of their busy schedules to appreciate independent cinema?!” Stiles argued back. 

Scott crossed his arms and pulled away from Stiles a little too dramatically. “It was a dumb name for a Questing Guild.” 

“Really, Scott? And exactly what kind of guild would it have been good for? PVP? Sparkle Motion Raiding Guild?” 

“The only people who wanted to play with us were pervs and girls!” 

“Yeah? And what exactly was the problem with that?” 

Scott’s salvation arrived in the form of the doorbell. A loud knock reverberated through the hall and into the living room for good measure. Stiles jumped up to answer, but his Dad who was seated closest, waved him off and answered the door. 

A booming hello echoed through the house, Derek’s ‘regular guy’ voice was sickeningly transparent. He greeted his father with a little too much enthusiasm for someone who had been arrested by him before. His dad and Derek walked into the living room together. Isaac wandered over hesitantly, Derek acknowledged him enthusiastically, and Isaac reached out to give Derek a hug

“It’s been a few days since I’ve seen this guy! I hope he hasn’t cleaned out your fridge completely?” Derek laughed, his grin huge and wolfish, Isaac looked over at Stiles like he wasn’t sure how to stop Derek from being completely weird. His Dad admonished the inconvenience and ushered them both in and asked them to sit. 

“We were actually just making plans for this evening.” His dad's voice was full of curiosity. Dinner was a long ways off, but here Derek was. 

“Yeah, yeah, of course. I wanted to catch up with Isaac before the day got away from me, make sure he was okay. You know how that goes.” Derek laughed again. 

Creeped the fuck out did not begin to cover how he felt about Derek’s dad impression. His dad made light conversation with Derek, who mellowed out after a while. His dad would assume Derek was nervous being around the Sheriff. It happened to him all the time, especially with people who had a run in or two with the police in their past.

His dad asked Derek if he wanted a beer and invited him into the kitchen. Stiles could hear them talking, but it was just barely out of earshot for him. He was so annoyed that literally everyone else in the room could hear them. 

“Dude, tell me what they are saying.” Stiles whispered to Scott. 

“Your dad was talking about the other night... He’s asking about damage, but Derek says don’t worry, he’s sorry it happened.” Scott looked over at him impatiently, silently asking if he was expected to keep doing this the whole time. 

“You remember when running messages between you and Allison almost gave me a heart attack? Ass.” Stiles was punching the favor card, Scott couldn’t say no. Scott punched him in the leg, and not kindly. He winced, taking the abuse like a big baby. 

“Your dad is telling him he couldn’t have known, you’re good at lying,” Scott snickered and glanced over at him. Stiles gestured wildly to the kitchen, begging Scott to pay attention to what was going on in there. 

Scott stared at him, and he stared back, waiting. Finally Scott rolled his eyes and kept talking. “Derek said he likes having you around. You’ve helped Isaac a lot. School, Lacrosse, stuff like that, so far he hasn’t lied.” Scott shrugged, illustrating it was going better than he had expected. 

“Oh,” Scott laughed. “Your dad is apologizing for you beating up Derek. The shit Derek is saying now is almost a lie, there’s no way -- ” Scott cut himself off, laughing silently. Isaac looked over at him, grinning. 

If someone didn’t tell him what Derek had said, he was going to freak the fuck out. Before he had a chance to threaten anyone Scott hit him in the chest with the back of his hand. He cocked his head to the side like a dog would, trying to hear better. Stiles wanted so badly to make fun of him for it, but he wanted to know what was going on more. 

“...Your dad -- he said it’s too quiet out here.” Scott looked up in alarm. In tandem they all reached into their pockets and pulled out their phones. Within a second, plausible deniability was theirs. 

His dad came around the corner, Derek behind him. He surveyed the scene in front of him and raised his eyebrow in disbelief. 

“Really guys?” He said, exasperated. They all looked up at him, unsure why this would be so unbelievable. “There’s a porch to clean? Remember?” 

Stiles let a long breath out his nose in relief, and jumped to his feet. The other two moved to follow him. 

“Dad! Actually, I think we’re going to go to the store, so you don’t have to. You always say it takes you twice as long if you go during the day because all those conscientious citizens want a chance to chat up the Sheriff. We’ll pick up the stuff for barbeque, and stop by that organic farmer stands on 12th. It’ll be great, we’ll be back really soon okay? Derek you should come with us, you’ve never been to the farmer stands, you said so the other day. They have the best fresh Edamame.” He walked to the door, gathering his keys and flip flops as he was talking. His dad watched him unfold the tirade of information. He opened his mouth like he wanted to interject, but couldn’t find the space. 

Stiles stood near the open door and ushered everyone out. His dad looked over his shoulder at Derek, searching for some clue what the rush was all about. Derek loosened up, instantly smiling. 

“Barbeque? That sounds awesome, I thought it was pizza?” Derek said.

“Oh, yeah. We changed our minds before you got here. We’re going to have ribeye, and vegetables, apparently.” His dad frowned a little, most likely at the thought of the Edamame. 

“Well, as long as you’re cooking, I’m in. I have no idea how to barbeque anything. I’m a complete failure in the kitchen.” Derek laughed and started toward the door. 

“Wait, son.” His dad pulled out his wallet and started rifling through the cash. 

“No way, sir, If you’re cooking, I’m buying. I owe you for feeding this guy for the last couple days anyways.” He slapped Isaac on the shoulder. “He eats like a wild animal.”

Derek finally threw in a genuine smile and everyone laughed, stealing glances at each other. Inside joke, landed. 

His dad opened his mouth to protest, but gave in without much fight. He shrugged and said he would go clean up the grill. 

*** 

“Stiles, wait, how are we going to fit groceries in here with us? It’s pretty cramped with all four of us in here. I think --” Derek tried to be reasonable, but Stiles cut him off. 

“Fuck it, I’m not going back.” 

“ Can you not be pissed off? I think that went pretty well,” Derek said. 

He didn’t understand why Stiles was so weird about it. His standard for social interaction outside the pack was pretty black and white. It was divided into people who wanted him dead, and people who didn’t. He walked out of the Stilinski house with no bullet holes. He considered that a win, Stiles didn’t agree. 

“My dad sees you as a fellow parental figure and that isn’t really compatible with my long term goal of someday introducing you as my boyfriend.” Stiles said darkly. “It’s creepy as fuck, that whole thing was creepy as fuck. Why couldn’t you have gone for a more ‘protective older brother’ vibe? That would have actually been much closer to the truth.” 

There was nothing he could say to that. He didn't want to explain himself. He shut down, closed himself off from everyone. He knew how to be a protective older brother, because he had been one. He didn’t want to think about it either. 

For some reason his mind was giving him two choices, fixate on his family -- who were all dead -- or fixate on the last time he saw Stiles. He had been so quiet and pliant that morning. His huge brown eyes were dark around the edges, glassy and sad. His face was deathly pale, his face was hollow and haunted. He felt so fragile and vulnerable. 

Derek shook his head and tried to pull his mind away from those thoughts. Disgust made his throat tight. He hated himself because it had turned him on so much. He told himself he wasn’t sure why. The intimacy of the whole morning had so many moments, there were plenty of opportunities for him to feel a lot of things. 

He couldn’t lie to himself, not in his own head. He knew exactly what moment it had been. When Stiles said he loved him, he was completely defenseless, unguarded. It triggered a response in him that he had barely been able to control. When he was no longer completely sure he could control it he left without saying a word. 

“What.The.Fuck.” Stiles hissed at him. Derek looked over and Stiles flinched like he’d been slapped in the face. “What are you doing? Put those -- Stop being wolfy!” 

Derek looked down at his hands, his claws were out. Now that he was aware, he could feel his eyes glowing. He breathed deep, closed his eyes, and dragged it all back. It had been so many years since he felt anything like this. Anger was all he had to fall back on for years, but he wasn’t angry anymore. He had to have more self control than this. 

A few minutes later they were prowling the aisles of the Trader Joe’s. They stopped by the open produce stands. He hated the edamame, but Stiles bought some anyways. 

They piled into the car and somehow found places to put all the bags. The drive home was all Stiles and Scott, making inside jokes, speaking in a shorthand only they understood, and generally being the inseparable force they had grown into. Derek had never known what to think of it, but felt it was good because it was normal for them. 

Back at the house they loaded everything in, leaving the food to the Sheriff. He went out back to help clean off the porch. It wasn’t as bad as the Sheriff had made it sound. Within a half an hour they had the backyard looking clean and gorgeous. 

They pulled out the lawn furniture then everyone went to clean up. He went to his car and rifled through his road bag. Years of traveling behind him, he felt like he couldn’t leave wherever he was staying without a couple of days worth of clothes and supplies in his car, just in case he couldn’t make it back. A pair of boardshorts and a muscle tank would make him blend in with everyone else. He chucked his boots in the back of his camaro, he could go barefoot today. He made his way around the side of the house and ducked in through the garage door. There was a small bathroom in there that connected to the kitchen. 

Changed and cleaned up, he was about to leave as someone walked up to the door on the garage side. Sensing it was Stiles, he opened the door quickly and pulled him in by the front of his shirt. A moment later he had Stiles leaned against the door in a very familiar position. 

“Hello,” Stiles whispered.

He brought his face down to Stiles cheek, his lips and nose trail lightly to Stiles ear. “What are you doing here?” he whispered quietly, his eyes closed. 

Looking at Stiles would make things much more difficult. He tensed as hands fished their way under his shirt. Hot breath fell against his neck. Lips kissed his jaw, then his cheek. Arms held him tightly as hands dragged nails lightly across the skin of his back.

Claws sunk lightly into the doorframe as his arms trembled. The familiar fountain of adrenaline and anger was nowhere in sight. His eyes burned bright behind his tightly shut eyelids. He was a fucking mess. The air in the room felt heavy, like he couldn’t breathe. The Alpha energy seeped into him slowly. He was holding back a frenzy with the barest edges of himself and Stiles was unintentionally cracking the walls. Sweat pooled at the base of his neck as Stiles pawed at him. Suddenly he stopped, and Derek opened his eyes. 

Surprise played across Stiles face as he took in the eyes, then looked up and saw the claws on the door frame. 

“What is up with you?” Stiles was concerned, trapped in a tiny bathroom with a sexually frustrated werewolf, he was concerned about the werewolf. He laughed breathlessly and fell back against the counter. 

“It’s you, that morning...” He struggled to find the right words as he watched Stiles move. 

Stiles ran a hand over his hair, scratching through the sides as he squinted at Derek, waiting for some sort of explanation. His long fingers, his bitten down nails and huge knuckles. His hands were almost comically large compared to the rest of him. 

“You have to tell me what part, some of it was great, some of it was weird,” Stiles said, losing patience with him. 

“You said -- I don’t want to explain this right now.” He didn’t want to talk, he wanted to do bad things, terrible things, the best kinds of things. He stood up, looming over Stiles again. He felt his imposing size acutely. He took up the whole room, purposefully. Stiles was cornered, his heart was beating fast, he was frightened. A thrill shot through his veins as he watched Stiles’ mind work, saw the realization dawn across his face. He only wanted to see Stiles’ panic, see him for what he really was, then he would leave until he had better control than this. 

Stiles eyes went hard, he looked angry. Not submissive, or frightened. The hand that shot up and closed around his throat was so entirely unexpected he took a step back. It didn’t hurt, Stiles just held on. 

Stiles planted his other hand squarely on his chest and pushed him back. He pushed until Derek’s back was against the mirror above the sink. Derek clenched the edge of the counter with both of his hands, calling back his self control. Even though Stiles was working with psychology and wishes alone, he could feel the wild energy inside him retreating. It quieted, curling into the tight space in the back of his mind it called home. 

He couldn’t force himself to look away from Stiles hardened face. His hand moved from Derek’s throat as he leaned in closer. He brought his hand up, covering Derek’s mouth with his palm, he squeezed down hard on his jaw, pinning him against the mirror. 

“I don’t give a fuck what your damage is, you will never disrespect me like that again. Nod if you understand me,” Stiles hissed menacingly into his ear. 

He nodded, squeezing his eyes shut as shame crept over his face, heating his neck and cheeks. 

“I’m going to let you go, and when I do, you have to pick one of two choices. First, you can leave here and never come back, ever. Second choice, you can sort out your shit, apologize. Tell me you love me, whatever you need to do to fix the mangled bullshit you have inside you and guarantee me, you will never do that again. Do you understand?” Stiles lips were so close to his ear he could feel them moving. He nodded again and Stiles let him go. 

He took a deep ragged breath and sat up as Stiles took a step back. He looked at the floor, his hands, anything but looking at Stiles face. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “It’s the anger, I don’t -- it’s not there like it used to be. I’m not what I used to be, this is so much harder to control than it was before.” 

“You’re not angry anymore?” Stiles asked, crossing his arms loosely. 

“Not enough,” he answered, finally looking up at Stiles. He wasn’t angry or hard faced anymore, Stiles was waiting for him to choose and follow through. “I love you, but thats not all of it. I have them now, even Scott apologized. I have a place to live, someone to love, friends, and I’m not living every day like I’m going to die fighting before the end of it.” 

“Kind of hard to hold on to a staggering amount of anger in the face of all that,” Stiles sighed, pursing his lips together tightly as he considered the situation. “It wasn’t always anger was it? Before the fire, you had something else?” 

“My family, my little sister Cora mostly. I wanted to be able to protect her, that was my job, my purpose. If they were alive, it still would be. My purpose was always supposed to be protecting them. I was never supposed to lead,” he admitted. 

“Well you’re a leader now, and you have a family. I know you think Erica is good enough at least,” Stiles offered. 

“They’re all good enough, you especially. I’m the one who's lucky they said yes,” he shook his head and dropped his eyes to his hands again. 

“I appreciate this, but I need all of it, everything I asked for,” Stiles reminded him, pulling him back from the edge of his spiraling guilt. 

“I won’t ever do that again. I know I can’t count on my anger to be there anymore, but I can count on my need to protect you, and everyone else. I’m sure, because it’s always been there, I just haven’t let it be in control,” he promised, hoping Stiles would accept it. 

“Okay,” Stiles said. “We should go out there, I’m starving.” 

“Okay? Just like that?” Derek asked, feeling like that couldn’t be the end of it. 

“I hope you don’t expect a fucking hug or something. We didn’t just have a lovers quarrel. You were going to rip me to pieces and play with my entrails, but... I always knew this was eventually going to be a problem. I’m glad we don't have to worry about it anymore.” Stiles shrugged and dropped his arms, hooking his thumbs into his pockets. “Right? 

“Yes, right,” 

“Just do me one last favor?” Stiles waited for an answer. 

“What? Anything,” Derek said. 

“Remember, know, deep down in your bones, I am your boyfriend, not your dinner. If you ever make that mistake again, I will put you down,” Stiles promised. 

A moment he was gone, the door shut quietly behind him.


	5. Things We Left Undone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We’re dying for the things we left undone  
> The perfect words  
> We know we’ve never spoken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is Derek-centric, I apologize, it's kind of a heart ripper.

Sweat pooled under him, made his sheets damp. He shifted and turned restlessly. He was spoiled by functional air conditioning, but it had been off all day with everyone going in and out of the house while they barbecued. 

After the barbeque they sat at the table and talked, just the two of them. They stacked all the dishes but his dad was a bit too drunk to make good on his enthusiasm to clean, so Stiles made a big show of leaving it all till tomorrow, because they could. He sat his dad down at the kitchen table with a big glass of water. It took less than a minute for his dad to conjure up some a somber and insightful observations. He said that Derek had a long way to go if he wanted to be more like a parent, then pointed out he didn't really have to be. Isaac was almost grown, it was just good that they were there for each other. 

Everything devolved fairly quickly once his dad did and impression of Scott. He laughed until his ribs and cheeks were sore. Hid dad’s impression of Derek was terrifyingly hilarious, something he would never be able to forget. It had been a long time since they had talked and laughed like that. He appreciated how talkative his dad could be. Though, he wished it didn't take an unhealthy amount of beer, or whiskey, to get him to open up. Stiles wondered if anyone felt the same way about him. 

The night breeze rustled his Venetian blinds, breaking up the muggy, heavy air in his room. Today had been hot, a terrible day to turn off the air conditioning. It was starting to cool off though. He had stripped to his boxer briefs, laying on top of his covers. He was too tired to do more than that. It was past midnight, If he could just stop thinking, he knew he would go right to sleep.

Hot breath tickled his ear. He dreamed of Derek kissing his face, asking him to wake up. Derek's rough stubble dragged over his neck and he knew it wasn't a dream. Derek was softer in his dreams. He was exhausted, but he peeled his eyes open, for Derek. He checked the red, glowing clock on his headboard, three o’clock in the morning. He would have told anyone else to fuck off. 

“What’s up? Everything okay? You better not be here to snuggle, it’s too fucking hot,” he said, half joking. 

Derek leaned back against the wall under the window. His face was somber, upset. He sat up in bed and situated himself, rubbing the sleep from his eyes roughly. When he was ready to listen he fixed his eyes on Derek, or what he could see of him in the low light from the street lamps outside. 

"I couldn’t sleep,” Derek said. 

"We're not going to hash out everything that happened earlier, are we? I’m too fucking tired" 

"Stiles, I could have killed you.” 

"Oh my god, how novel. Like that didn't happen just last week, or wait, how many times has it been?" 

"There's a difference between me wanting to bounce your head off a steering wheel for being a dick, and the predator part of me wanting to eviscerate you. " 

"Look, I knew what I was getting into. I'm not running scared. I already told you, I expected that to happen. I put a lot of thought into it, that’s why I knew what to do. I didn't cut and run on Scott, and he's way more unpredictable than you are." Stiles sighed, feeling like he was in a bad rerun. 

Derek got up off the floor and turned to use his improvised wolf door, but he caught Derek's hand before he could leave. 

"I know, I know. Sorry. I told you I was too tired. C'mon, sit down." He patted the bed next to him and pulled Derek's hand. When Derek didn't budge he escalated his efforts by grabbing onto his wrist with both hands and propping a foot against Derek's leg. He scrunched his face up, pretending to exert himself wildly as he pulled in earnest. 

Laughing, Derek let Stiles pull him over. He let out a loud groan as Derek fell on top of him heavily. Derek rolled off of him, pinning his left arm to the mattress underneath him. 

“I’m bad at talking about important shit like this. I’ve always had a better way of communicating with the people I care about,” Derek said, admitting one of his deepest faults, and the very valid reason behind it. 

“I don’t know how comfortable I am with psychic boyfriends, I mean... no one in the world even has my email password, let alone my most intimate thoughts.” Stiles said, hoping Derek would understand his honesty. 

“It’s greenbergsucks212.”

“How the fuck did you know that?” Stiles asked, shocked that Derek could know something so specific. 

“I downloaded a keylogger on my computer just in case Peter sneaks in while I’m gone.”

“That is... fucking brilliant. You still use hotmail, when did you get this brilliant?” Stiles laughed, adequately impressed. 

“Sometimes, I get lucky,” Derek smiled. “I love you,” he added, like a hitter swinging for the cheap seats. Lucky for him, it worked. 

“That was smooth,” Stiles smiled back, thrilled to hear it said in a less combative context. 

Giving Derek what he wanted was easy, there were so many parts of this world that felt impossible to deal with, but being loved well was not one of them. He got up and locked his door, so he could give Derek his undivided attention. Derek was sitting on the edge of his bed, still in the ridiculous muscle shirt. He peeled it off and tossed it to the floor. He crawled into his bed and sat up against the wall, his legs spread out over his bed. Derek slid up beside him and made himself comfortable. He shifted himself into Derek’s shoulder, using him more than the wall to sit up. 

“Why are you so comfortable with this if you don’t know what’s going to happen?” Stiles asked as he made the conscious decision to let the connection between the two of them flow freely. 

“It has to be better than whatever mangled bullshit comes out of my mouth, right?” Derek said, he leaned in, letting his head rest against Stiles’. 

Like someone flipped a light switch, everything went bright and red. The light from the street lamps suddenly looked like a post nuclear holocaust, bright, sunny day. 

“What the everloving fuck? Why is everything red?” Stiles tensed up, reaching for Derek’s hand. 

“You can see that?” Derek asked, pulling his head away. The vision dulled, but everything was still glowing, like infrared night vision gogges. “It is a proximity thing.” 

“Wait, you mean we definitely have to be close to each other for this to work?” he asked. 

“Yes, if you are too far away, for too long, it disappears,” Derek answered. 

“I know what this is, it’s a brain wave thing. You must be like a radio. It’s like you have pre programmed stations, that’s what imprinting is. You’re just picking up brain waves instead of radio waves, but they’re essentially the same thing. You just have to have a tuned receiver.” 

“I’m a radio?” Derek replied, taking away all but the most rudimentary aspect of his observation. “Way to take the magic out of it Stiles.”

“Seriously? You are so wrong, this makes it even more magical. I mean, how do you do that?” Stiles smiled, vastly entertained as he scanned the room. 

“I have no idea,” Derek admitted. 

“You should be happy, I’m impressed, you’ve impressed me with werewolfy things. I think you have extra color receptor rods. I think that’s why some of this information is kinda weird. Some of these colors aren’t right. How do your brain waves take precedent over mine? Why would I suddenly start seeing like you, if I was seeing just fine on my own?” He had a hundred questions, but that one was the most pressing. 

“It’s always about willpower. You must have been curious about it, or open to the curiosity subconsciously. You can turn it off and on at will, just think it.” Derek threaded their fingers together and leaned back against his head. 

He tested his vision silently. Derek waited patiently for him to move on from the novelty of it. 

“Okay, I’m done for now. You have to promise to let me interrogate you later, this shit is too good.” 

“Anytime,” Derek smiled. He was quiet, a little too subdued. 

“Say what you came here to say, I want to hear it.” Stiles relaxed against Derek and yawned, he was still tired, but he wanted Derek to feel better. 

Stiles waited for something besides the quiet, but nothing came. Derek was silent for a long moment. He stayed silent, not wanting to derail Derek’s efforts again.

"I don’t trust myself like I should around you,” Derek said finally. 

This was a very old discussion for him, one he had with Scott many times before Allison proved she was the one they should be afraid of. Derek had probably never had this discussion with anyone, not honestly at least. 

“Did you ever consider the problem wasn’t you, it’s me? I don’t expect every encounter with a werewolf to hold the potential threat of death, but really, that’s foolish and idealistic at best,” Stiles pointed out. 

“You mean like, you don’t give wolvlihood the proper amount of respect?” Derek asked. 

He laughed at Derek using his word, ‘wolvlihood’. “I don’t give anything the proper amount of respect, and sometimes that puts you in a hard position. On the other hand, it’s my choice, and it will never be yours.

“Sometimes I forget, I treat you or Scott like you’re just regular dudes, but something always comes up to reminded me. You guys don’t always have complete control over your conscious actions. The learning curve associated with being best buds with a werewolf is steep, and hazardous to your health, but that doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be attempted.”

“I don't think I’ve ever heard it put that well, but yeah, I understand that,” Derek said into his hair, his voice slightly muffled. 

“I’m good at this,” Stiles said. 

“You are, but I came here worried about me, my unpredictability,” Derek reminded him. 

“I help mitigate your unpredictability.” 

Stiles finally felt something, a response to his confidence, his statement of purpose. It was an idea that didn’t feel at all like one of his own. The thoughts were quiet and more linear. Derek agreed that he did bring balance, and balance was the most important thing to Derek, the thing he strove to understand most about the world. That was why Derek came here in the middle of the night, because he didn't want to give Stiles up. He didn’t want to torture himself with unknowns until he made the wrong choice. Derek knew if there was a simple, reasonable answer, Stiles would have it, or try his best to find it. 

“Fuck. You are good at this. I knew you were a freakin’ genius, I just needed the right language.” Stiles was thrilled. 

“Genius, I don't think so,” Derek shook his head. 

“Think about it, you take someone who speaks a certain language and remove everyone around them they can effectively communicate with. Does anyone else know they are a doctor or a philosopher? No, they end up being a janitor, because clean is a fairly universal language, like math,” Stiles said, trying to backup his observation. “Even after they’ve learned the new language it isn’t as good as the first one. They think in one language and speak in another. It never quite feels right, and they feel alone, frustrated.” 

Derek’s wasn’t comfortable thinking about how alone he had been for so many years. Stiles caught a strong impression of Laura, but before he could ask Derek spoke up. 

“Maybe, but you know what’s crazy? You. You’re either shut down completely, dead like a corpse, or you’re a freight train. No one else is like that. It’s all fuzzy impressions, feelings. Most of the time wolves have to get good at interpreting each other, and they have to work at turning it off and on. You think exactly like you talk, but it’s all crystal clear, and maximum volume. As far as the whole proximity thing goes, I could probably hear you across town.” Derek sounded confused, and maybe a little impressed. 

“Do you think it’s the Adderall? It changes the way your brain works.”

“No, and it’s not the ADHD, Peter used to have that, and he was just hard to follow sometimes, until he started meditating.” Derek crossed his ankles and leaned into him more. 

“Really? It’s hard to imagine Peter meditating.” Stiles couldn’t imagine it at all actually. 

“He was a Buddhist, he tried to be a Buddhist. I don't think the meditating helped him. I mean, sure, medically he was able to focus better and he had more control over himself, but all that training, focusing his thoughts. I don’t think he was sitting there contemplating the meaning of butterflies all those hours, you know?” Derek sighed, his thoughts of Peter were dark and hateful. 

Wrapped up in all the hate and bitterness was a tiny spark of forgiveness. It was confusing because the forgiveness was saturated with something terrible and revolting. At first he assumed it was self loathing, but there was something deeper. Stiles couldn’t pinpoint what it was, but there were words, they stood out in his mind. The voice saying them was an ugly, sickening woman, speaking in a way that made his guts churn. 

“I don’t know whether to kill it, or lick it?” He asked the question out loud, hoping for some clarification of the dark impression. 

Tension stiffened Derek’s shoulders and neck. His fingers involuntarily tightened. He dropped Stiles’ hand and flexed his fingers, popping the knuckles loudly as he squeezed against his own hand. 

“Kate.” 

The word hung in the air like a stab wound. Stiles had never been violated or victimized by anyone the way Kate had attacked and dismantled Derek. It had been hard for him to imagine how Derek would feel about it. The tiny sliver he had gotten a glimpse of, was a snarled mess of hate and desperate helplessness. Kate Argent was Derek’s version of Satan

"Peter killed her, she's gone," Stiles said, understanding the murder of Kate was like a whitewash over Peter’s actions, the tenuous glue that held them together. 

It didn't erase Laura's death, but it diluted the strain between them considerably. Peter was a nightmare, but he was also a hero to Derek in a twisted way. Teenaged Derek, the Derek that left Beacon Hills just a few years ago, would have revered Peter for Kate’s death, only Laura stood in the way. Even in death Laura acted as an unwavering moral compass. 

Derek wanted to sleep, he didn’t want to think about any of this anymore. Stiles got that impression loud and clear. He moved to tear down the blankets, and Derek followed. When they settled Derek’s head was laying on his chest, arm wrapped tightly around his ribs. 

It dawned on him this was the purpose of the pack bond, moving silently in tandem for a mutually desired goal. The very moment Derek wanted to sleep, he knew and complied, because it fit with his desires. Derek ended up on his chest because he wanted the comfort, and Stiles wanted to provide it, even though they had never slept like this before. The process was so fast it felt instinctual, his conscious mind didn’t even register the choice. The presentation of idea and acceptance of the goal, were almost invisible. The only thing he needed his higher function for was the execution. 

“Stiles, go to sleep.” Derek sighed. 

***

The soft click of the door, then voices in the hall woke him up. Derek stretched, arching himself tightly across Stiles whole bed. He should feel vigilant, nervous. He didn’t want to get caught here, especially not today. 

A shiny metal wrist watch on Stiles headboard caught his eye. 8:12 am, he would have to start soon if he wanted to get everyone here in time. He couldn’t make himself move, he buried his face in Stiles pillow and hugged it tight. He closed his eyes and just laid there. He could hear Stiles and his father talking outside the door. Usually he was so careful, Stiles must be rubbing off on him. 

Maybe this was fate telling him he shouldn’t get out of bed today? Fate told him that everyday though, so fate could eat a bag of dicks. 

He swung himself over the edge of the bed silently and launched himself up. He dressed and left Stiles a note, he opened the closest notebook to a blank page and scrawled out ‘See you soon’. Stiles might like it better than getting a text later. He grabbed the frame of the window and scanned for passers by, neighbors. There was nobody. He looked over his shoulder at the bed, he was flooded by a strong urge to get back in and stay there. He sat down on the window sill and stared at the bed, trying to understand where the persistent sensation of dread was coming from. 

Footsteps fell outside Stiles door and he remembered where he was, a few minutes later he was in the Camaro, headed home. 

The maintenance truck from the cemetery was parked at the loading dock. Isaac must have brought it for the trip to the river. As he pulled in closer he saw a huge wood crate, one that hadn’t been there before. As he walked up to it the scents of Brooklyn swirled around him The dirty sea water, concrete, and cigarettes. His Harley had finally arrived from storage. 

It felt like christmas morning when read the packing slip. He saw the message on the side written in a familiar tight script, ‘we miss you, come back soon’. He put the bike up with his old boss, and had it shipped back a few days ago. He never imagined it would get here so fast. Louis must have put it on a flight out here instead of a train. Louis ran a freight sorting center. It was a place where they sorted already weight and labeled boxes and sent them out to the appropriate trucks and boats. If anyone could get a motorcycle across the country in four days unscathed, it was Louis. 

The job he had there was hard but he was built for it. He was valued there, and he liked that. Everyone else called his manager Fat Louis, though he hadn’t been fat since he was 16 years old, the name never wore off. He liked everyone who worked there, but no one could do that job for too long. By the time he left he was one of only a handful of people that had been there longer than a year. In Louis eyes that made him like family. 

His job was one of the reasons Laura wouldn’t let him go when she left for Beacon Hills. It was a hollow reason. When she listed it off in her argument, he told her it was stupid. He said everything he could think of to change her mind. He promised he would get another job, then he said there was a difference between people you could stand having a beer with, and people you actually wanted to spend time with. She was so angry with him for saying it. She called him a snob, and said he was a narcissist. She insisted if he tried harder, he would make plenty of friends. He didn’t listen, he was too angry with her for telling him no.

He let himself miss Laura for a moment. He wanted her back so badly, sometimes he felt he might choke to death on the grief he held inside. His throat tightened and his eyes burned for a second as he leaned his head against the box. He took a few deep breaths and ran his hand down the wood, reminding himself what was inside. She needed to be let out, it wasn’t fair to keep her locked away. 

The panels of plywood slid away easily from the perfectly framed corners. Louis had definitely built the crate and packed it himself. He tossed the plywood pieces into a pile on the dock. He surveyed his work, making sure he could keep going without causing any damage to the motorcycle. The elevator engine turned over and someone stepped in, he waited to see what kind of an audience he would have for the unveiling. 

Erica stepped out, she said something about the box being delivered far too early in the morning for reasonable people. She was annoyed by all the banging. She was ragged with sleep. Her makeup was smeared under her eyes, and her hair was in a sloppy clip on top of her head. He laughed thinking how she looked like an angry suburban mom. He thought better of asking her for help, tearing off the last few pieces of plywood himself. 

He found the seam in the styrofoam case. He knew from experience how to lift it off the bike, but if it had shifted in transport he didn’t want to scratch it. Since Erica was still standing there he waved her over and showed her how to pull on the other side. In seconds they had it cracked open like an egg. She gasped and shouted at him in surprise as she tossed the huge piece of styrofoam out of the way. She gushed about how sexy the Harley was.

“It it for me? For my birthday?” she asked, running a hand down the pin striping on the front fender.

“Is it your birthday?” he asked, suddenly concerned he had overlooked something important to Erica. 

“No dumbass!” She laughed and pushed his shoulder playfully. 

Erica crawled over the seat, draping herself over the bike like it could love her back. She hugged the gas tank, running her fingers down the intricate purple and green pinstriping. Touching absolutely everything, she asked about all the cool things on it. He fucking loved this motorcycle. If he was more honest about his feelings, it would be him on the bike, acting like Erica. Instead, he let himself enjoy it vicariously. 

Remembering this moment felt important, he wished Laura was here to see it. He realized his phone had a camera, but when he held it up to snap a picture Erica yelled at him. He got the photo, it wasn’t anything he would show her though. He laughed as she ran back to the elevator, promising she would be back in a minute. 

The compulsion to get on the motorcycle and drive far away was strong. For right now the motorcycle was still strapped down to the pallet, and he had to at least wait for Erica. He went to his trunk and changed again, putting on some jeans and his leather jacket. He unfolded the packing slip and read it again, just in case he missed something. His eyes scanned the description, Louis had gotten just about everything wrong except the make and model. It was a 1997 Harley Road King. Almost all original -- he had rebuilt the twin cam engine once, by himself.

She belonged to someone who loved her before he found her, in a Denny’s parking lot off I-5. He and Laura were making their way up to Portland when they stopped. They had just left Arizona. He hated Arizona, all the travelling and camping in the deserts. They both hated it, they wanted to go somewhere where it rained. They considered Canada, but Laura didn’t know how to get passports without using their real names. 

They met a band in Utah from Portland. They were touring dive bars and festivals, a lot of places off the beaten path. The lead singer was a werewolf, an Alpha surprisingly. His name was Rob. He was gigantic, incredibly intense, but friendly. He invited them to come stay with his pack. He said it was different there. It was a safe place and everyone was welcome. Laura declined, but she saved his number anyways.

After that, everything that felt tolerable before was suffocating, they both had enough of getting by, hiding out in the makeshift cities deep in the desert. They didn’t know where to go, or who to trust, when Rob found them. He gave them the choice, then let them go. It took a while for both he and Laura to realize Rob probably meant everything he said. They weren’t very good at trusting anyone but each other back then. 

Three years of hiding was enough Laura finally decided. After that long off the grid no one would be looking for them anymore. Leaving the desert in his grandfather’s old Cadillac was one of his best memories. It felt so different leaving when he knew they were never going back. She was so excited, her relentless optimism had freed them. He wanted to be happy, but all he had was a sense of relief. It was enough to make him smile, and that made Laura more happy. 

After that things got much better, slowly, but the uphill climb started meaning something. His Harley had been a major catalyst, inadvertently. 

_The cities and freeways never ended outside the desert. They were monuments to regulated communities. He and Laura were back to being two faces amongst millions. It took days for them to shake off the tension that came from living in the desert along side anarchists and meth heads. It took them longer than it should have because Laura refused to go anywhere with security cameras, or drive during the day, until they were outside California._

_Once they reached the Oregon border Laura lit up. She sang the songs she knew off the radio at the top of her lungs, and he didn’t have it in him to be annoyed with her. They made it as far as Grants Pass before it started to rain. It wasn’t the kind of rain you saw in the desert. This was real, torrential Autumn rain._

_They were so excited they got out of the car and ran through the forest like lunatics, enjoying the cold, permeating wetness that was soon to be a part of their daily lives. Moving from the desert to a rainforest felt like it meant something, like the potential for something good waited around the corner._

_They stayed the night in a casino town and hit the road early the next morning. A couple hours later they were hungry enough to stop at a Denny’s he saw from the freeway. It was right next to a high school. He almost didn’t say anything because he was worried people his own age might be inside, but the town looked small. Small enough everyone would know they were just tourists and ignore them._

_The motorcycle was parked in the front of the restaurant with a for sale sign taped to the back tail light. He couldn’t take his eyes off of it as they drove by, his neck craning awkwardly as they passed. It looked dangerous, he wanted to fire up the engine and see how fast it would go._

_He held back as they walked to the front door, taking a detour to hover over the bike until Laura noticed he wasn’t behind her anymore. She approached him with caution, unsure of what he was doing. He had been unresponsive for so long, barely speaking, not caring about anything enough to show any interest, let alone intense fascination. He only cared about Laura, nothing else mattered._

_“Whaddya think of this thing? It’s pretty shiny!” Laura’s eyes danced as she smiled, hoping he would give her a response._

_He considered sticking with what he knew, distance and silence, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to ask if he could have it, it sounded crazy, but he really wanted it._

_She nudged him when he didn't answer, he shrugged. It wasn't the response he wanted to give, he felt stupid. He didn’t know how to ask her, how to make sure she wouldn’t say no. If she said no, there was no point in putting in the effort. He was disgusted with himself. He wanted to be bold, he wanted to be taken seriously._

_“Can I have it Laura?” He sounded small and scared in his own head, he wished he built himself up more before he asked._

_There was almost no chance Laura would say yes to begin with. She fished her arm under his and leaned into him, hugging his chest. He sighed and hugged her back. She was going to explain why it was a bad idea, he knew it. It made him feel sick with longing. He could feel she was upset, he hugged her back tighter. She had been so happy, and he’d ruined it._

_“I’m sorry Laura, let’s just --”_

_“No, No...” Laura looked up at him, her eyes glassy._

_Guilt seeped through him, he just wanted to forget the whole thing, take it all back._

_“You haven’t asked for a single thing in three years Derek... I’m just surprised is all, it’s okay. Of course you can have it.” She smiled up at him, tears spilling down her cheeks._

_It was hard for him to reconcile her reactions, the approval was slow to settle in his mind. When it dawned on him she had just said yes, he couldn’t contain himself. He picked her up off the ground, hugging her tight. She laughed and held on to his neck, her feet swinging high above the ground. He put her back down and shuffled nervously, waiting for her to tell him what was next._

_“C’mon, lets go find the owner -- but first, just because you’re hard to kill does not mean you can be reckless. One bike, one chance. You wreck it, that’s it.” She threatened, but he expected no less._

_He nodded in agreement, he couldn’t imagine doing anything to wreck such a gorgeous thing._

_“Hey! Anybody here?” Laura spoke loudly into the barren Denny’s. There was no one on the floor, no customers, no cook. It wasn't surprising in a place like this at 10:30 in the morning on a work day._

_A tall woman walked around the corner at the back of the restaurant. The heavy leather jacket she wore made it obvious the motorcycle belonged to her. Her cheeks were red and her face looked friendly, but the way she moved told him she had a gun harness around her shoulders. She was exactly the kind of person who would have a motorcycle like that._

_She flashed an easy smile at Laura and spoke in a deep, clear voice. “Hey there, I saw you looking at the Harley, you interested?”_

_She stopped just out of arm's reach and rested against the front counter, she looked over her shoulder toward the kitchen like she was worried about something, then turned back, all smiles._

_“Yeah, is it yours?” Laura inquired, he noticed her voice subtly change, she was more pleasant than he expected her to be. She was always friendly, but this was different._

_"Yes Ma'am, I'm upgrading. It's hard, I love that beast, but I have my eye on this years Fat Boy." The woman smiled at Laura, obviously liking what she saw, very much._

_"I want to buy it for my brother," Laura motioned to him. The woman looked him over and reached out to shake his hand._

_"Dude, you're so quiet, I almost didn’t see you there." A big contagious laugh came out of her. He grinned and shook her hand firmly. For the first time in a long time, he was excited to meet someone new._

_"Well, lets go outside and take a look at her. I'm Victoria, you can call me Vic though." Laura shook her hand and made their introductions._

_They were both wildly attracted to each other, and Laura knew because she could see the same things he did. The racing heart, the stress, the dilated eyes, but Vic was working on confidence alone. He didn’t want Laura to be interested in someone, but if she had to be, Vic didn't seem so bad at first glance._

_Vic gave them a run down of the motorcycles history, and revealed a few quirks, none of which he cared about. Laura told her they could pay for right now, if she didn’t mind them driving away with it. Vic’s response wasn’t what either of them expected._

_“You should take it by Doyle’s and have it looked over, you gotta be safe, right? It’s not too far away. I can swing you by there if you like?” Vic was concerned about them, both of them._

_Vic might have thought Laura was attractive, but it didn’t explain the protectiveness he felt from her when Laura suggested they exchange money. Instead she suggested that the exchange of money could take place at Doyle’s, she explained how they would have the contracts and paperwork. How it would protect Laura and Derek both. She cautioned them against driving the motorcycle without proper endorsements. She explained that a motorcycle like that wasn’t a big old Cadillac, the police would pay closer attention to them._

_Laura could sense Vic was trustworthy, but she wasn’t expecting the kindness Vic showed them. When Vic suggested they go to Doyle’s and offered Laura a ride, she immediately accepted.  
He gave her a sour look as they walked back to the car, she popped the trunk and handed him the keys. _

_“Derek, I know you’re annoyed, but you’ll have that bike forever. I’ll probably only have the girl for the next few hours,” she said as she pulled off her oversized tee shirt and put on a heavy black sweater that hung off her shoulders. “Don’t hate me, okay?”_

_He handed her a hair tie from the gear shifter, she wrapped her hair into a tight ponytail._

_“You look pretty,” he said, not agreeing to not hate her, but loving regardless. She kissed his cheek and ran off toward Vic._

_Following the motorcycle across town was easy because the town was remarkably small. He watched them bank around turns and fly up a steep hill, the whole time Laura was holding on to Vic like a spider monkey. He could tell how much Laura already liked Vic. He wanted the motorcycle, but he didn’t want Laura to be upset or disappointed when they left. It made him feel better that Portland was only a couple hours away. If she really liked Vic, it would be easy for her to come back._

_Nothing could have prepared him for the inside of Doyle’s. Awesome helmets and gear were stacked all over. He wandered aimlessly, unsure of what he really needed, or what was required besides a helmet. He was turning over a helmet in his hands that had a demon wolf painted on the side. He looked at the art, wondering where the artist got the idea for it when Vic came up and took it out of his hands._

_“You don’t want that. The only dudes who wear those are gang members and frat boys. Here, this one.” She handed him a light, flat black helmet without a visor._

_“Aren’t the closed ones better with the wind?” he asked, preferring the look of that kind. Vic pointed to the rack of sunglasses and he smiled. “Ah, he understands.” Vic laughed, following him over to help choose a pair._

_Once the paperwork was taken care of Laura joined them, observing silently as Vic coached him through what he needed versus what he wanted. The last thing they picked out was a jacket. Vic pulled one off the rack and put it right back, making a unhappy face. She sifted through a couple other styles before moving to the used jacket rack. He didn’t like the plasticy, chemical smell of the new jackets anyways, so he followed her. She handed him one with such authority he didn't even look at it, he just took it and wrapped it around himself._

_“Derek, that looks really good on you,” Laura said, she smiled and nodded her head in approval._

_"Jesus kid, you do badass pretty good." Vic straightened the front of the jacket and turned him toward the mirror on the far side of the clothing rack._

_As he stepped into full view of the mirror, he didn't recognize the stoic, hardened man looking back at him. He studied his reflection, trying to figure out if he had changed, or if it was just an illusion of the clothing. He noticed the creases in his forehead, his scowl made his eyes look hard and unforgiving. His stubble and thick eyebrows used to look sour, or bored. Now they were menacing. He looked like a grown up, someone nobody would fuck with. He liked what he saw. If this was a disguise, he was going to do whatever it took to make it reality._

_Laura couldn’t easily discard her disguise the way he could. She leaned against him as he looked in the mirror, wrapping her hand around his elbow. Her disguise was the opposite of his. She was so small, she had always been short, but the last couple years had made her thin and compact. She looked younger than she was. For the first time he looked like he was definitely the older and more dangerous one._

_He walked out of the store wearing all the things he and Vic had picked out, his old self stuffed in a black plastic bag with a Harley emblem printed on it. He pulled off his jacket before he slid into the back seat of the car. In the daylight he could see it was worn on the elbows and shoulders. It smelled a little like smoke, not cigarettes, but campfire. The man who wore it before him didn’t use cologne thankfully. He had conditioned the jacket well. All he could smell on the inside was the slightly chemical fragrance of leather conditioner, the same kind he had just purchased._

_“Hey kid, you like barbeque?” Vic called from the driver seat of the Cadillac, looking at him from the rear view mirror. He nodded, not caring where they went to eat, as long as he wasn’t hungry anymore._

_The ridges stitched into the elbows and collar made a zipper noise as he ran his fingers over them. He searched through the pockets, learning where all of them were. He found a small leather key ring, with an enameled medallion fixed to the middle of one side. It said Hank in a flowing script. He silently thanked Hank for taking good care of his jacket._

It wasn’t that long ago, but it felt like a lifetime. He missed Vic, he knew he should call her, tell her what had happened. He couldn’t chance she wouldn’t come down and set fire to everything, until she found Peter and killed him. Vic was exactly what she looked like, and she was more dangerous than any of them. Peter wouldn’t make it half a day, and he couldn’t afford to lose Peter right now. 

It didn’t escape his notice that there were two hundred extra miles on the odometer. The only reason he wasn’t vowing to have Louis fingers for dinner was the pristine condition the motorcycle had shown up in. He didn’t expect miracles, Louis was forgiven, but he wouldn’t forget. 

The tie downs that suspended the Harley on the platform came free easily. He broke free the brace on the front wheel, and backed the Harley down off the pallet carefully. He climbed on the seat and sat back, taking a deep breath as he settled into the familiar position. He really missed his bike. 

The elevator door swung open loudly and Erica ran across the loading dock toward him. She was dressed plainly, her leather jacket was fastened up to her neck and her hair was in a tight ponytail at the back of her head. He pulled the helmets out of the saddlebags and handed her Laura’s. The Harley fired to life as Erica climbed on the back. He enjoyed the familiar rumble for a moment then put on the rest of his gear. When he was done he turned to check on Erica, she nodded and wrapped her arms around his chest, holding on tight. 

They took off like a bullet, the instant speed felt like they were flying. The Harley jumped to seventy miles an hour just as quickly as he remembered, the wind cut into his jacket and burned his fingers. They headed out of town, the landscape changed to forest quickly. He heard Erica yell faster. He gassed it to ninety, hugging the corners dangerously. He was pushing the Harley to the limits of it’s capabilities, but he was sure it didn’t mind. Erica helped, following his lead and leaning into the corners with the deliberate accuracy only a werewolf had. 

Once they were burned out on adrenaline, he slowed and enjoyed the ride. He had a couple of hours to kill, and he intended to spend them on the road. The long quiet roads that twisted through the reserve reminded him of the roads out by Vic’s house. 

_They went to a quiet, out of the way diner called Karen’s. It was right next door to a sad, run down strip club. Vic waved to a scantily clad, leggy blonde smoking on the walkway outside. The blonde waved back, visibly disappointed when Laura got out of the car. He was wildly curious what the inside of a place like that looked like, he wondered if Vic went there, or if she knew the woman from somewhere else._

_The blonde was waving again, but Vic and Laura had already rounded the corner, unwilling to wait for him while he sorted out his stuff and hid it under the seat. He realized she was waving at him. He immediately put his head down, feeling a flush of embarrassment sting his cheeks. He laughed to himself, feeling like he must be doing something right. He looked back up at the woman and smiled. When she smiled back he turned and walked toward the cafe, terrified she might come over and try to talk to him._

_As far as diners went, the only great thing about it was the barbeque. Laura was having a fantastic time, and he liked Vic’s stories of touring with her other biker friends, going to swap meets, and all the hilarious ways people had broken down. Many of those stories involved Vic coming to the rescue, but she always glossed over that part, as if it didn’t really matter._

_One of the first things Laura taught him when they left Beacon Hills was to never share information about themselves, especially not who they were, or where they had come from. When she started telling Vic stories about things they’d done, and where they had been living, he got nervous. Vic asked all the right questions and suddenly Laura got quiet. She looked over at him, then at the empty diner around them. His whole body tensed as he sent her a silent message to stay quiet, to not tell Vic anything. No matter who she was, she wasn’t a werewolf, and she could easily be a hunter. Laura covered his hand with hers before turning to Vic and answering her question._

_“We’ve been off the grid completely. We haven’t used our I.D.’s and we’ve only ever had cash for years,” Laura said._

_“It’s not easy to live that way. If you know the right people, you can be someone else, you know. You ever thought about that?” Vic asked, her mouth smiled, but her eyes gave away the concern she felt._

_He payed attention to everything she did, her heartbeat, the way she moved her hands, how she kept looking at Laura’s hands and eyes as she talked._

_“We tried, but the guy we were working with was too shady. I couldn’t deal with him and keep Derek safe,” Laura said._

_Vic nodded as she stirred her iced tea that had long since melted._

_“I’d hide out in some shit hole desert forever to keep Derek safe. It’s just us. Our whole family died, we’re all thats left,” Laura said, wanting Vic to know exactly what her priorities were._

_“I can get you what you need, no questions asked, no risk. I could say a lot of shit to try and convince you I’m trustworthy, but I’m pretty sure you’ve already made that decision. So you tell me to, and I’ll go have a conversation that’ll solve a lot of problems for you, or don’t. Either way, lunch is on me,” Vic said, sitting upright on her side of the booth._

_“Yes,” he said, “If you can do that, we want your help.”_

_Laura turned sharply to look at him, confused as to why he answered for them._

_“I’ll be back in a minute then.” Vic left, not giving Laura time to revoke Derek’s permission._

_“Why did you say that Derek?” Laura hissed at him the minute Vic was out the door._

_“You’re not paying attention to her, not like you should be. She wasn’t lying. I know she wasn’t. I don’t care what you decide to do, but she can help us. I’m not wrong,” Derek insisted. “If you keep on being pissed off at me we’re both going to miss whatever she’s saying.” He pointed out the window at Vic, pacing a small corner of the sidewalk in front of the diner._

_Concentrating on Vic’s voice was easy, she projected herself, everything she said was crystal clear._

_“Leo, hey what’s up?” Vic smiled._

_“Not much, scanning. Did you catch up with those kids?” Leo asked._

_“I did, and we’re never taking another job from that asshole again. There is no way these two did what that recovery profile said. They’re just a couple of kids. We should be taking him down. He’s a fucking criminal,” Vic said._

_“He creeps me out, I'd be happy to blacklist him but he has some of the best weapons technology on the west coast,” Leo argued._

_“Fuck that Leo, he’s kidnapping and killing innocent people and using us to track them down. I will kill the fucker if I ever lay eyes on him. Do your thing, get some genius kid in there to start putting together our own shit. We can have the best weapons tech on the west coast,” Vic said angrily._

_“Let me hire Hal,” Leo said._

_Vic was silent, he and Laura watched, both of them holding their breath as Vic clenched the hand not holding the phone and paced. She looked up and twisted her face into a mask of frustration and anger, obviously unhappy about whoever Hal was._

_“Fine, motherfucker... fine. Hire Hal, but I am not working with him day to day, and you have to keep these two off the grid. I need I.D.’s bank accounts, the whole nine,” Vic said, leveraging Hal for everything they needed._

_“Why are we doing this for them?” Leo asked._

_“Because, I’m your sister, and I asked you to asshole. Jesus. It’s the right thing to do,” Vic said, slowing her pace and talking emphatically with her hands._

_“Yes, we often do the right thing instead of getting paid, but we don’t often go this far. What’s going on, and don’t lie, you’re not as good at it as you think you are,” Leo warned her._

_“She’s worth it, okay, can’t you just take my word on this? And I love you, I wouldn’t lie to you,” Vic said, immediately Leo laughed loudly._

_“She’s worth it? How worth it?” Leo asked, still laughing._

_Vic sighed and walked out of his field of vision, Laura could still see her though._

_“About five feet, two inches, all legs and smile,” Vic said, her voice sounded muffled, like she was talking from under a blanket. “This girl, she’s so beautiful, it might kill me.” Vic let out a long sigh and Leo laughed again, this time he sounded more sympathetic._

_“Okay, if it was anyone else, I’d tell them to fuck off, but I’ll take your track record into consideration. You know, judge on a case by case basis. I’ll get it started from their descriptions on the recovery profiles, if they’re accurate. Text me the rest okay?” Leo said._

_“The descriptions were accurate, that’s all. Thank you Leo, I owe you one,” Vic said, walking back to the corner of the sidewalk._

_“Don’t ruin Hal, that’s all I ask,” Leo said, the smile obvious in his voice._

_“No promises asshole,” Vic said giggling. The sound didn’t seem like it could come from her, but her smile said otherwise. She hung up the line and punched something into the screen on her phone._

_“This isn’t okay Derek, we have to go,” Laura said, pushing against him to leave the booth._

_“Laura, wait, listen please,” Derek said, holding his hands up. “She doesn’t know what we are. Think about it, they’re brother and sister. That conversation was real. Do you want them on our side, or do you want to be alone out there against whoever’s still looking for us?”_

_“We can go back to Arizona,” Laura pushed against him, but wasn’t willing to make a scene in the middle of the diner when he still wouldn’t move._

_“No, we can’t. I won’t go back Laura. Mom taught me things, I know how to protect you from things like this, but there isn’t anything here to protect you from. Please, just stay, be nice to her, see where this goes,” Derek argued._

_“I can’t -- I like her Derek, I’m not going to pretend just to get things from her,” Laura said, lowering her voice as Vic walked in the door._

_“I meant be nice to her because she’s being nice to us,” Derek whispered as Vic walked around the end of the table._

_“I’ll be right back,” Laura pushed against him again, and he moved, letting her out. She headed toward the ladies room._

_Vic glanced at her as she sat down and nodded. She waited till she thought Laura was out of earshot to say anything. “She’s mad ‘cause you said yes?” Vic asked._

_“Sorta, it’s been hard to know who to trust,” Derek said._

_“And you’re sure you can trust me?” Vic asked, raising her eyebrows._

_“I know you aren’t lying, and I know you’re doing this because you actually like my sister,” he answered._

_“You can tell that?” Vic asked, looking at him curiously._

_“I can tell when someone is pretending to like you to get what they want, but you don’t want anything... except my sister to like you back,” he said, certain he was right._

_“And how do I get her to like me back?” Vic asked, serious about getting an answer._

_“Don’t lie, if she asks you, tell her the truth. If she doesn’t want to know, she won’t ask. For you, there’s no such thing as protecting her,” he answered._

_A look of surprise crossed Vic’s face like a flash, she nodded and slipped back to the corner of her seat._

_When Laura opened the door to the bathroom he could see her, but Vic couldn’t. Laura whispered ‘thank you’ to him and smiled before coming out to join them again. She waved down the waitress and ordered pie for him, asking Vic if she would like anything. She asked for coffee and told Laura she should try the peanut butter pie. Laura smiled and ordered it for herself._

_“Are you a hunter?” Laura asked Vic abruptly._

_A flash of confusion crossed Vic’s face before she answered, “I’m a bounty hunter, yes. If you mean am I a fan of shooting deer or bears, no. I hunt criminals, not Bambi.”_

_“A bounty hunter?” Laura asked, emphasising the bounty part._

_“Yeah, did you actually mean deer hunting?” Vic asked, laughing._

_“No,” Laura shook her head, giggling._

_“What other kind of hunter is there?” Vic laughed, confused, but entertained by Laura’s giggle of relief. “Are you just realizing this?” Vic asked, genuinely surprised._

_“No, well -- kind of,” Laura said glancing at him._

_“I thought you guys figured it out a long time ago,” Vic said shaking her head, then she pointed at him. “This one clocked my gun the second he saw me.”_

_“You did?” Laura asked._

_“Lot’s of people have guns,” Derek shrugged, not adding that guns didn’t really scare him anyways. “I didn’t think you would like her if she was bad news,” he said instead._

_“I wouldn’t,” Laura said, looking up at Vic._

_Vic smiled back, totally transparent about how happy she was to hear Laura say those words. “You guys don’t have to tell me what you did to piss off Gerard Argent, but I know you aren’t criminals, and I don't take in people who aren’t. So, hows about we lay out cards out on the table and figure out how to keep you two safe. I don’t care if you stay, go, or never speak to me again. I don't want to see that fucker get his hands on you,” Vic said, making her feelings about Gerard Argent very clear._

_It was decided they would stay in town for a couple of days until everything was worked out. Vic invited them to stay with her, pointing out that it was the safest place they could be. No one would ever look for them there. Laura agreed reluctantly, he didn’t care as long as he felt safe, and he felt safe with Vic._

_After picking up the motorcycle he followed Vic out of town with rudimentary directions to her house. A couple of miles down a quiet country highway Vic pulled over and he pulled up behind her. Laura got out of the car and waved him out after talking to Vic for a few seconds._

_“There aren’t any cops out here, and your sister assures me you can handle yourself. It’s paid for, it’s your’s.” Vic said as she put down the kickstand and dismounted from the Harley._

_He didn’t wait for Laura to change her mind. He got on and roared the engine to life. Vic quizzed him on the functions of all the controls until she was satisfied. When he pulled out onto the road the handle bars wobbled under his hands, he didn’t expect the strength it would take to control this motorcycle. It was a lot different from the dirt bike he had at home._

_At first he was cautious, banking the corners too slowly, getting a feel for the Harley. He picked up speed and confidence on a long straight stretch and kept the speed under him. He knew the motorcycles limitations, he leaned into the turns keeping the low clearance in mind. Like Vic said, it wasn’t a sport motorcycle you could lean over till you were scraping your knee on the pavement._

_The long winding valley ahead of him called out for a little recklessness. He gunned the gas and slid through the curves at top speed._

It was about time to go back, he didn’t want to think about it, but at least they had another hour before they had to face real life again. He pulled over to turn around and Erica asked him if they could take the Harley down to the river. He nodded, knowing he probably wouldn’t drive the Camaro again until it started raining. The Camaro was Laura’s car. It was good to have, but it reminded him of her everyday. Being here, riding with Erica reminded him of Laura just as much, but when he was alone on the bike, it wasn’t so bad. He was used to riding alone, especially with Vic around so much in those days. 

 

_The sun was setting behind the mountain on the opposite side of the river. Dusk was a long, drawn out event at the bottom of the valley. They were all on the big square deck at Vic’s place. Laura was curled up on Vic’s lap, as she stretched out on the long bench that wrapped around the edge of the deck. He was perched on the edge of a squeaky cast iron chair that was now designated as his, because he always sat there. He and Laura were supposed to be leaving in the morning, but Laura hadn't said a word about it for days. He expected her to change her mind, she wanted to stay here just as much as he did._

_A couple of days here quickly turned into a couple of weeks after Vic picked up her new motorcycle. They rode together around the winding back roads, stopping in tiny villages with native american names. They followed the county highways that twisted through the mountains along the pristine, green river. Everything around them was so green and alive. They could live here, they could be happy. No one would ever think to look for them here. All they needed to do was tell Vic they wanted to stay, she would make an amazing werewolf, if she wanted to be. It could be perfect._

_His imagination ran wild, picturing what it would be like to work for Vic and her brother. The whole time he was here the constant scent of gun oil and citrus followed him. She had cache of weapons hidden behind a wall near the front door. A bunch of dangerous looking gear rested on the backs of tall chairs lining her breakfast bar. She lived unapologetically, embracing the chaos and violence of life by maintaining some control over it. Vic didn’t run away from anything, things ran from her._

_Over the last two weeks Vic and Laura had fallen into a routine. It was so easy between them, like they were built for each other. His heart was breaking for his sister, he wanted to yell at her, list off all the reasons they should stay. He felt like a coward for not even asking, but there wasn’t any point, he knew the answer. She loved Vic, so she wouldn’t expose her to their world, she would love her when she could. Laura would stay as far away as she could stand, because that’s what was best for Vic._

_A shroud of sadness suffocated Laura, she looked older, more like their mother now. She didn’t even look at him as she passed by, leaving to pack. Vic didn’t say anything as the ambient light disappeared behind the mountain. He watched her, wanting to talk but not knowing what to say. He promised himself he would come back someday. He burned the image of this place, of her, into his memory._

_Vic was beautiful, but not the same way Laura was. She was more solemn, quiet. Her long, light brown hair covered her like a veil when it wasn’t pulled back to ride or work. She didn’t do anything with it like Laura did. She was as tall as he was, but much more imposing. Her thickness was mostly muscle, but she was soft around the edges. She seemed like she was covered in tattoos, but she insisted her arms and back weren’t done yet. His favorite was a thick triskele design she had on her shoulder. He knew the symbol, and when he asked about it, she knew the meaning too. All of her tattoos meant something to her._

_It was easy to understand what Laura saw in her. She was good, capable, pragmatic, she didn’t care about much except her family and her job. Maybe he didn’t understand, maybe there wasn’t enough there to draw them together like magnets. That was how he imagined true love was, if it was right, you couldn’t ever leave each other behind. He couldn’t imagine his mother ever leaving his father, or the other way around. They never spent a single night apart as far as he could remember._

_The scent of marijuana filled the air as Vic fished around in the pocket of her ugly beige robe, and pulled out the familiar glass pipe. She packed it tight with the aromatic, bright green buds and lit up. He waited for the exhale that would drift the sweet smoke over to him. He loved the smell, but he never asked to try it. He didn't see the point, he didn’t think it would work on him._

_“You want?” she said through the exhale, smoke puffing out around her words. It made her voice sound hollow and deeper. She let the rest of the smoke slide out her nose slowly as she held it out to him. “It’ll work you know.”_

_She tapped the lighter over the opening of the glass pipe, holding it safely as she passed it to him. He sat up straighter, feeling on edge. He wasn’t sure he had understood what she had said. She waved it at him again._

_“Laura told me. Go ahead, it’ll work, it’s different than alcohol.” She reached out and put it in his hand. “You’ve been eyeing this shit like it was chocolate since the first time I busted it out kid. Don’t tell Laura I told you it would work.”_

_He held the pipe and lighter in his hand, confused and excited at the same time. Why had Laura told her, and if she knew, why didn’t Laura tell him? He looked up at Vic, wanting her to give him answers to questions he shouldn’t be asking her in the first place._

_“Geez kid, don’t look at me like that. It’s not my idea. I’d feed your garbage disposal of a stomach forever if she’d let me, but you gotta go. It’s best.” She pulled her hair up and wrapped tight into a ponytail on the back of her head. She looked the same as the day he met her. “Laura only told me because I figured it out. You gotta act a little more human, kid. Trip every once in awhile or something. There aren’t a lot of people in the world like me, people who notice shit like that, but there’s enough.”_

_One day he would make Laura explain all this to him, but he couldn’t ask today. He would let her enjoy her last night here, without any trouble from him. He nodded to Vic and turned his attention to the mystery at his fingertips. He was unsure what the substance might do to him, but he figured Laura knew, and had told Vic. If it was dangerous she wouldn’t let him have it._

_He brought the swirled green glass to his lips. He could smell Vic on it, the scent was sharp and woodsy, like the thick moss that grew all over the forest around Vic’s house. It reminded him of Cora, and his Dad a little. He flicked the lighter on and brought it down to the bowl. He mimicked the way he had seen Vic burn the bud directly, while he slowly dragged in all the smoke. The warm burning in his lungs hurt a little, but he fought against his instinct to cough._

_He burned the bowl until he heard the ash suck through the bottom. It was far more than Vic consumed in one go, but he wanted to experience this before Laura came out and stopped him. He held the smoke in his lungs until he felt like he was drowning, then he let it slide slowly out his nose, the same way Vic did._

_“Well kid, you earned yourself a new nickname, I’ll just call you ol’ leather bags from now on.” She laughed and reached out for the pipe, packing another bowl for herself._

_He immediately felt his lungs and chest relax in a way that felt like vibrating and floating at the same time. It crawled slowly up his shoulders to his neck. He knew it would hit his head soon, and he wondered if it would feel just as relaxing._

_“Do you know why it’s different from alcohol?” he asked her._

_“I think it’s the way it works in the body.” She paused to think about it for a moment. “I think it’s like, alcohol is a poison, so your body treats it like one. It heals itself before you feel anything. Pot is all chemicals that stick in your brain and make you feel high. Lots of the chemicals are just like the ones you already have in your body. So, no healing factor to contend with.” She shrugged, telling him it was her best guess._

_A pleasant buzzing sensation flowed over his brain. He smiled and laughed, letting his head fall back into the deck chair. He didn’t feel like he was quite inside his body, and all he wanted to do was laugh, even though it would make him look crazy. The scent of the forest and the river below them were suddenly powerful and gorgeous. He wanted to run, take in everything before it wore off._

_Hanging as far off the deck railing as he dared, he took in everything around him, letting it fill him up until he couldn’t make sense of it anymore. Vic was watching him curiously. Surprised flashed across her face as his bright blue eyes came to life, like fireflies in the dark. Her crooked grin made him feel like he had done something special, if it made her happy. The forest sang to him, everything was so bright and alive, he looked out into the pitch blackness that had fallen around them, then back at Vic unsure if he was allowed to go._

_“Go kid, I’ll let her know. Don’t put any holes in anything I’m obligated to fix.” She waved a hand at him._

_He kicked off his shoes, tore off his socks and shirt and lept off the deck to the gravel driveway below. The rocks barely touching his feet before he jumped over the fence. When he hit the edge of the forest he ran through the trees, heading to the top of the mountain behind the house. He ran full speed through the neighbors field then through the stream that fed the well next to VIc’s house. The large, jagged rock formation at the top of the mountain was surrounded by tall trees, but as he leapt and climbed his way to the highest spot, he felt like he was up above everything._

_The kingdom below him was perfect, but just out of his reach. A long, grief stricken howl ripped out of his chest, and shook the rock beneath. The rest of the forest silenced for a moment as he waited, knowing Laura would respond. She echoed off the mountains, calling back to him over and over until she disappeared into the dark. He wouldn’t be coming back tonight, Laura knew, and she didn’t come after him.  
_

The rumble of the engine deepened as he slowed down to park at the loading dock. It sounded like a complaint, an accusatory whisper saying he didn’t dare put her away yet. 

Holding the bike steady he waited as she dismounted, then reached out to take Laura’s helmet and put it away. For a moment he thought Erica was Laura. He let himself get so deep into the memories of Vic’s place, he expected her to be Laura. The helmet came off and Erica smiled, asking if she should go wake up the others. 

Derek carefully put the bike on it’s stand and climbed off, standing in front of Erica as he took the helmet and turned it over in his hands. “I miss my sister.” he said, letting the words be real finally. 

Erica pushed the helmet aside and wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him tight. He brought his arms up around her, hugging her back because thats what she expected. Her chest heaved and her breath drew sharply, she was crying, for him. His arms drew tight around her.

“I love you,” he whispered, meaning it for Laura and Erica both. 

“Love you too,” she said back.


	6. Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something took hold of his shirt, yanking him back up. He hit the side of his Jeep, the pain in his ribs stabbed through him, making him gasp and struggle for air like a fish out of water. He clawed against the hand holding him up, compressing his chest painfully. Through the dull roar of adrenaline and terror that clouded his senses he heard a woman’s voice, quiet, but hard, like shards of glass breaking in his ears. 
> 
> “This is pathetic, I expected a lot more of a challenge from you Stilinski.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MINOR CHARACTER DEATH. Not for the faint of heart.

The Jeep came to a screeching halt at the waters edge. Isaac’s work truck backed up into the flat space above the boat ramp, so they could set up the grill. His Dad had brought his fishing gear, which meant he would be close enough to enjoy, but far enough away that it could be an all day long unsupervised party. 

The sleek black motorcycle pulled up next to him and Erica swung of the back with far too much grace and panache. It was bad enough she was in his seat, she was far cooler doing it than he would be. Earlier she met him in his driveway with a look on her face that promised she would threaten his manhood if he weaseled his way onto the back of that Harley. He didn’t want to stir the shit, so he let her have it. 

He threw the Jeep in park and flung the door open, almost grazing Derek as he got off the motorcycle. He smiled sheepishly as he pulled off his shirt and flip flops. The coarse sand under his feet didn't slow him down as he ran full speed into the river. Cold water splashed around him and his feet sank into the loose sand. He walked in to his waist, then dove in, the crystal green water billow around him. 

Underneath the surface a kaleidoscope of rocks and vegetation swayed in the current. The water stung his eyes, but not so much it stopped him from exploring. The river was perfect, pristine and untouched. He went as deep as he could, to the middle of the river where the current picked up, then doubled back toward the shore. When he couldn't hold his breath any longer he kicked off the bottom, aiming for the surface. He gulped air into his burning lungs and shook his head to clear the water from his ears. No one else had gotten in yet, so he floated, watching the activity on the beach.

Scott and Isaac were helping unload his Dad’s fishing equipment. Derek was near the cab of the pickup, watching him. He splashed water Derek’s direction and snorted playfully, even though he was yards away. 

“Playing with yourself Stilinski?” Erica called out from the beach.

She goaded him with her big crooked smile as she pulled off her top. He was unsure if there was meaning behind her need for his attention at that very moment, or if she had just chosen to take advantage of the opening in spite of her actions. Either way, he found himself genuinely surprised when she revealed a somewhat unremarkable turquoise swimsuit. He hadn’t given it much thought, but he figured she would choose something flashy, and much smaller. 

“You look good!” he called out to her. 

As soon as the impulsive words left his mouth he realized how they would sound. The only person who paid any attention was his dad, who had stopped sorting his fishing gear to see what played out. He sighed and threw himself back in the water, removing the potential for any further humiliation by submerging himself. He floated in the slow current near the shore, eyes fixed on the bright blue sky above him.

The river was wide here, and only about 10 feet deep near the middle. It flowed faster at the very center of the stream, but near the beach the water billowed, spinning back on itself in places as it hit the shores. If the sand was better it would be the best spot on the river. 

 

The water lapped at him, surging forward as Erica moved through the water near him. Her blonde hair flowed behind her in ripples. She twisted around him like a shark and stopped at his side. 

“You’re so in love with me.” She teased him. 

“I really meant it, you look good okay?” He smiled, wanting her to know he meant it. 

“Thanks,” She snickered, adding. “I think your dad is really hoping I’m your type.” 

She shoved him playfully and he sunk, righting himself until he was treading water next to him. 

“You’re everyones type, right?” He said, grinning. 

“Dick.” She splashed him, drenching his face with water. 

“What?! That’s what I get for giving you a compliment?” He rushed her and rolled under the water, taking her under with him. Her hair matted over her face as they surfaced. He took the opportunity to pounce on her again as they both gasped for air. The second time she locked her arms around his chest, pinning him until they were just barely standing on somewhat solid sand. 

“You fight dirty!” She laughed, letting him go. 

“I have to take my hits where I can get them,” Stiles said, rubbing the water out of his face. Erica laughed, grabbing his hand and drifting around him in a wide circle. They floated together for a while before she pulled him closer, standing them up in the water. 

“You doing okay?” She said quietly. 

“Yeah,” He answered, feeling like he should say a lot more. 

She smiled, satisfied enough with his answer. He walked a few steps, looking down into the clear, greenish water, watching the coarse sand and rocks move under his toes. Erica hooked an arm around his chest and draped herself over his shoulders from behind. The water made her feel nearly weightless. He reached up and held her arms, her cheek was pressed against the back of his neck. She held on as he walked slowly back up the river, watching the underwater landscape move and change around his feet. 

“You gotta keep your shit together Stilinski,” she said from over his shoulder. 

“I know, I promise all that is over,” he said, thinking again about what he could do or say to thank her. 

“He’s not miserable enough to ignore how he feels anymore. That bike brought back a lot of memories, a lot about Laura. He told me this morning he missed her,” she whispered, only hoping Derek wasn’t bothering to pay attention to them. 

“He said that?” Stiles couldn’t imagine what might make Derek say something like that out loud. 

“Yeah, and I expect you to love him with the fire of a thousand suns until he feels a better, if you know what’s good for you,” she threatened him, but he could sense her concern. She wasn’t thinking about him, she was worried about Derek. 

He pulled her arms away and turned to face her. She settled to her feet in the deep water, waiting for whatever he had to say. He reached out for her face and kissed her forehead, her face instantly twisting up with confusion and fake disgust. 

“Thank you,” he said. 

“You are such an emo nerd, you know that?” She said, mildly exasperated by his weirdness. 

“I am aware of that,” he said with a sigh. 

He sunk himself down into the water until only his eyes were showing, then reached out for her, She jumped back, splashing him again. 

“I’m going to go hang out with Boyd, he’s not as weird as you are,” Erica laughed, backing away. 

“I beg to differ, and everyone knows Boyd has cooties,” he said, narrowing his eyes accusingly. 

“You ever get that creeped out feeling like some, big scary monster is gonna to snatch you out of the water and drag you down?” she said, widening her eyes and smiling.

He looked down, scanning the water, suddenly filled with dread. He spun around, looking for Boyd or Isaac, or maybe an evil mermaid, because werewolves were real, why not mermaids. He didn’t see anything, he looked to shore and counted everyone. They were all on the beach. None of them were about to screw with him, it was just Erica. She threw her head back and laughed, taking a sick sort of delight in torturing him. 

“You are so mean, literally, you are the meanest person ever,” he called out to her as she swam away, still laughing. 

***

Derek leaned against the back of the truck, pretending he was interested in Scott setting up the grill. He was more interested in Erica and Stiles, who looked like they were flirting one second, and yelling at each other the next. He wasn’t wrong about them, there was something there, just not enough to build anything on. Erica had gotten under Stiles skin, he laughed as he watched Stiles look through the water all around him before he shook it off -- sort of -- and went back to floating. 

Scott and Isaac debated the correct way to light the briquettes. Scott preferred the method of dousing them in enough kerosene to blow up the truck, while Isaac argued for the crumpled paper and kindling method, so their burgers didn’t taste like lighter fluid. The Sheriff settled the argument by telling them that any grown man worth his salt would do both, just a little. 

The Sheriff walked over and held out a light blue slip of paper for him to take. 

“It’s a day pass for sport fishing, I wasn’t sure if you wanted to. They’re cheap, so I just grabbed one online,” The Sheriff explained. 

The official looking slip of blue paper had his full name and birthday on it, along with his current address. Derek stared at the paper for a moment then realized, of course the Sheriff, of all people, would have this information. It was all in his criminal record, and Stiles probably gave him the address, because there was no reason not to. 

“I’ve never fished before, but I’ll give it a shot?” He hoped, however the next couple hours went down, this would give them a chance to get to know each other at least. 

They gathered up the equipment and set off along the shore, up river toward the rocks that jutted out like a pier. They stopped right before the river closed up, where the water was deep and the flow picked up. 

“I’ll go a little further upstream, so our lines don’t tangle. You can just wave at me if you need help with anything.” 

Derek nodded in agreement, surveying the chaotic pile of poles, lines and accessories he didn’t understand yet. He felt nervous, like this was somehow going to be a test of skill that would either put him in the good graces of Stiles’ father, or make him out to be useless. 

He both admired and feared the Sheriff. He held a lot of power over important things in Derek’s life. The Sheriff didn’t know he had that power, not yet. Eventually he would find out everything, but it wasn’t his place to tell. 

He paid close attention as the Sheriff named off things and their uses. He was fast, direct, easy to understand. The jokes he made were corny, and sometimes shockingly insightful. Stiles was a lot like him. 

“Okay, so here’s how you tie your bait on.That’s called an egg loop because we're using cured salmon roe to catch these suckers.” He handed the hook to Derek and pulled out a mason jar. 

He could smell the vile substance inside immediately. He knew this was going to be bad, but he had no idea it would involve dead fish eggs. He was sure this was all wrong. They should be using worms or something. Worms didn’t smell like that. The smell was so much worse when the jar was opened, he felt like maybe the horrible stench was some sort of test of manhood. 

“So they’re all wrapped up in these little net bundles, I did that a few months ago and froze ‘em.” He beamed at Derek, surprisingly proud of the tiny, pink death bags. Derek smiled back as genuinely as he could. He just wanted to throw the damn thing in the water as fast as possible. 

The Sheriff continued the lesson, adding a foam cork to the top of the hook, then threading it on his line with a special knot. 

“Do you think you can do this on your own? I can show you again if you like.” The Sheriff offered. 

“Yeah, I got it.” He was confident he could tie it, but he did not want to smell like the salmon roe bait for days. He tried to forget about the smell as he threaded the line and wrapped the hook exactly the way the Sheriff had showed him. 

When it came time to bait his hook he glared at his momentary nemesis. He steeled himself, deciding that whatever this proved about his manhood better be worth it. The Sheriff tapped the mason jar into his palm and deposited the round ball of bait. He quickly maneuvered it onto the hook and wrapped the loop around, securing it in place as fast as he could. 

“Wow kid, are you sure you haven’t done this before?” The Sheriff said, impressed by his speed and dexterity. 

Derek smiled and shrugged, trying to play it down as he tied the hook to the pole. 

I didn’t escape his attention that the Sheriff called him kid, just like he called Stiles kid. He had never heard Sheriff Stilinski call Scott, kid. He was probably imagining it, but it felt like progress. 

He watched the Sheriff cast out, and reel in slowly, then cast out again. He mimicked the behavior a couple of times before he started to feel confident he was doing it right. The Sheriff was the first to catch a fish. It was much bigger than he thought they would be. As the Sheriff held the fish up by the gill for inspection, it arched and flipped itself violently. Everyone upstream cheered loudly. The Sheriff laughed and held it a little higher before killing it and hooking it to a special line. 

After a while Stiles came over and brought him a burger for lunch. 

“Hey, I’m sorry my dad -- he thinks fishing is some sort of religion,” Stiles apologized. 

“It’s okay, fishing like this isn’t something I’d do on my own, but if he invites me again, I’d say yes,” Derek admitted. 

“What do you mean fishing like this?” Stiles asked. 

Nothing got past Stiles, he caught all the nuance in things people said, even offhandedly. Derek looked over at the Sheriff, satisfied he was busy watching his line a little downstream. He handed the pole to Stiles and kneeled down, leaning over the edge of the rock as far as he could. He reached into the water and closed his eyes. He let his hearing and instincts do all the work. Large fish especially made a ton of noise underwater. They also gathered under the ledges of rocks like this during the day, searching for food. A slow pulse passed close to his hand, then again, he hooked his claws upward and pulled the fish out of the water. 

“Oh, my god. Are you fucking kidding me? Put that down, jesus -- put it down!” Stiles stood in front of him, trying to make sure the Sheriff didn’t see the massive fish he had in his hand. 

“It’s dead, I can’t exactly throw it back?” Derek shook his head, wanting to laugh at Stiles panic over something so silly. 

Stiles reeled the line in and threw the bait into the water, then took the fish. He turned it over, inspecting the claw marks and considered it for a moment. 

“I’m going to take this over and make Scott clean it so you don’t have to explain the giant freakin’ claw marks in the side. Just -- be done soon. This is obviously a waste of your time,” Stiles rolled his eyes and set off across the rocks toward his dad. 

He watched Stiles leap from rock to rock with surprising grace. There was no tripping, falling, no awkwardness. He wondered if it was the goal that kept him focused, or if the connection to the pack was changing him. Stiles deftly maneuvered the conversation with the Sheriff, not letting his dad actually touch the fish by insisting he not put his line down, because monsters like that were waiting in the water for them. The Sheriff waved his direction, congratulating his catch.

“Dad, I’m going to bring you a beer and some food, then I’m going to ask Derek to come join us. I think he’s proved himself, right?” Stiles laughed. 

“Oh, yeah, you guys should go have a good time. Thanks kid,” the Sheriff said. 

Looking at the intricate knots, hook and line he felt like he cheated, but like most things what the Sheriff didn’t know, couldn’t hurt him. He was ready to get out of there, and he was happy Stiles had provided him with an exit. He cleaned and packed up the gear carefully before returning it to the Sheriff. 

“You did pretty good for a novice, kid,” The Sheriff said as he set everything down in a neat pile. 

“Thanks, you made it look easy enough, Sheriff.” 

“Oh, you don’t have to call me that, just call me John.” 

“John, okay,” Derek said, smiling. 

“Here you go dad, two beers, a burger, a dog, and potato chips.” Stiles set it all down carefully and picked up the fish John caught earlier. “I’m going to give this to Scott too, he set up the bucket to clean it. You want it packed up, or cook it now?”

“You can cook it, if you want. Don’t let Scott do it though. He makes a pretty good burger, but the fish takes a little finesse, you know?” John said. 

“Yeah, don’t worry dad,” Stiles smiled. 

“You guys go have fun, remember to use sunscreen Stiles!” John called after them as they skipped across the rocks, back to the sandy beach. 

“He told me I had to clean what I killed, how did you get off the hook?” Scott asked, gutting his fish over a large white bucket. 

“Thanks Scott, that looks kinda gross,” he laughed, Scott made a face that said he wasn’t amused. 

“You pulled this thing out of the river with your claws?” Scott asked, turning the fish over and pointing at the holes on the other side with his knife. 

“Yeah, it’s not exactly easy, but I learned from a guy in Portland,” Derek said. 

“Portland? When did you --” Scott started to ask. 

“Nope, nope, we’re having fun. Fun is going to be had right now, c’mon!” Stiles grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him down to the water. Isaac was laying on a towel, drying off in the sun near the waters edge. He raised his hand in the air for a high five as Derek passed. He hit Isaac’s hand and Isaac dropped his arm back down with a thud, his eyes closed behind his sunglasses. Derek laughed, wondering what had gone on to wear him out like that. 

“Earlier Isaac accidentally touched Erica’s -- you know and Boyd stole his swim trunks. I wasn’t sure who was going to win, but once Scott stepped in the tides turned.” Stiles relayed the highlights. 

“Scott and Isaac took down Boyd?” He asked, surprised. Boyd was massive, it would be hard for him to take down Boyd. 

“No,” Stiles laughed. ”Scott was on Boyd’s side. Isaac is like this wolfy merman, he really knows how to swim.” 

“Makes sense,” Derek laughed, sorry he missed such epic shenanigans. 

The water was cold, it felt good after standing in the hot sun. Boyd and Erica were nearby dancing around each other, laughing and play fighting. He pulled Stiles through the water. Stopping when they were strategically obscured behind Boyd. Derek pulled Stiles close, wrapping his arms around Stiles chest. He kissed Stiles cheek then his lips, smiling at Stiles surprised expression. 

“Testing fate? I thought you didn’t like doing stuff like this in public,” Stiles smiled back, letting himself go slack, making Derek hold him up. 

“Maybe I’ve changed,” Derek said, his lips hovering close to Stiles again. 

“Maybe you have,” Stiles said as he closed the distance between them, his tongue sliding softly over Derek’s lower lip. 

“You guys are so gross,” Erica said. 

Derek looked up and saw her peeking around Boyd’s arm. Boyd had moved to provide maximum privacy, holding Erica in his arms like a fallen heroine from an old movie. She kicked her feet, splashing water ineffectively in their direction. 

“Mean! You are so mean! That was just getting good. You have been torturing me all day!” Stiles shouted, splashing his hands in the water as he gestured emphatically. 

Stiles rushed through the water and pushed Boyd, dragging Erica out of his arms. She screamed and laughed, clinging to Boyd until Stiles heaved her as hard as he could, tossing her toward the middle of the river. She surfaced gasping for air and laughing at Stiles as he rushed her again, bowling her over in the water, taking them both down. Derek looked over at Boyd and shrugged, not sure if they should intervene, or let it play out. A moment later they still hadn’t surfaced, Derek could see the water churning where they should be coming up, but nothing broke the surface. Boyd stepped closer to see through the murky water, holding his arms up awkwardly as if it might help him see past the glassy surface. 

Boyd called out suddenly and disappeared, dragged under the water like some sort of horror movie. He surfaced for a second, gasping and laughing, telling them to stop, then he was gone again. They all popped out of the water one by one, Stiles first. Stiles was laughing so hard he could barely breathe. Derek went to him, just to make sure he didn’t choke or suffocate accidentally. Further away Erica and Boyd surfaced, Erica holding something black high in the air. 

“Are those Boyd’s shorts?” Derek asked just as Erica whistled loudly to get Isaac’s attention. She chucked the shorts at Isaac, who grabbed them out of the air lazily. He inspected the wet, black bundle for a moment before a wide grin stretched across his face. 

“Hey! Thanks!” Isaac called out to Erica. 

“I defended you and this is what I get for it?” Boyd demanded loudly. He was loud, but Derek could tell he was still having fun. 

“Maybe I don’t need defending? You ever think of that?” Erica asked, crossing her arms and moving out of Boyd’s reach. 

“I think about that everyday.” Boyd laughed. 

“I think we should burn them,” Isaac said, looking back at Scott. 

Scott shook his head, disagreeing, but Derek wasn’t going to take any chances. He snapped his fingers and held out his hand, nodding toward Isaac. Isaac sighed and threw the shorts back to Derek, who tossed them right back to Boyd. 

“Everyone keeps their shorts on for the rest of the day,” Derek said, laying down the law. He didn’t need the escalation getting too out of hand around Stiles’ dad. 

“I can’t make that promise,” Erica said flatly. 

“He said day,” Boyd said as he pulled his shorts back on under the water. 

“Oh, right, okay,” Erica smiled mischievously

“You guys --” Derek started to say. 

“Nope, we’re done. You can’t expect miracles,” Stiles interrupted him before he could try to negotiate everyone into behaving themselves. 

The fingers Stiles hooked into the waistband of his shorts stopped him more than the words he said. He followed Stiles, feeling a little like he was being lead somewhere dangerous. He looked over at the Sheriff, who was happily casting his line out again, oblivious to any of the shenanigans.

“Don’t worry about him, he needs glasses to read. We all probably look like dark blobs on the shiny water,” Stiles said, shaking his head totally unconcerned. 

“Do you think we’ll ever be able to tell him?” Derek asked, wondering if it was a lost cause. 

“Yes, I do. I’m planning on telling him everything, just as soon as there’s no possibility he’ll get himself killed trying to protect you,” Stiles said, stopping in the shoulder deep water. He slid his hands around Derek’s waist and down his back, holding him close. 

“Did you just say you’re worried he’ll get himself killed trying to protect me?” Derek asked, sure he heard wrong. 

“Yeah, you, Isaac, Scott, all of you. There’s one thing my dad does better than anyone else, and that’s understanding exactly who the real bad guy is. He just needs all the information. Shades of grey aren’t really his thing. I can’t tell him until I can tell him everything. Don’t worry, you’re on the right side. He was ten years older than my mom, and he could give a fuck less about shit like sexuality,” Stiles rattled off all the things he had obviously thought quite a bit about. 

“I didn’t realize, this is all about the Alphas then?” Derek asked, unable to believe it was just that simple. 

“Yeah, I mean he won’t be super excited about it, he’ll have questions, but I can answer all those honestly. I just --” Stiles sighed, his chest heaving as he let out a long breath. “I need him to be safe. I can’t lose him.” 

Derek understood that, better than anyone here, except maybe Isaac. He understood what being alone meant. “I’ll never let that happen, ever,” he promised. 

“I know,” Stiles said. 

 

***

Watching Derek’s body ripple as he slowly inhaled and exhaled was hypnotizing. Derek was stretched out on his spiderman beach towel, sleeping so deeply a low snore occasionally escaped his throat. They were all suffering from waterlog and exhaustion. He shifted his gaze as his dad approached, pretending to be mesmerized by something out on the water. 

“Hey kid, you guys look like you’ve about had it,” his dad said. 

“I think we’ll all catch a second wind once everyone wakes back up.” 

“I hope so, I stashed a bunch of stuff for s'mores in the box under your back seat.”

“Nice,” Stiles smiled, glad his dad was done fishing and ready to hang out with them. 

The woods around Deputy Taylors property were wild and unkept. His dad brought some wood, but went out to scrounge up a few fallen branches for a proper fire. He promised himself he would only lay back down for minute, then go help his dad. 

“Hey, I have my radio, it has an ipod jack. Anyone bring some tunes?” Boyd called out. 

He heard Scott make a sharp noise near him, then whisper to Boyd to be quiet. He opened his eyes and it was dark outside. He smelled the fire and sat up quickly. 

“Oh, shit, sorry,” he said through bleary eyes. 

Scott was right next to him, they both had a big blue sheet covering them. He lifted it, wondering why they had covered up when it was so warm outside. 

“Bugs dude, you were being eaten alive,” Scott answered before he asked. 

“Oh, thanks,” he said. 

“It was Derek’s idea,” Scott said. Stiles smiled, trying not to look too stupidly in love. 

Derek walked past him and handed Boyd what looked like an iPod, he watched curiously. He didn't know Derek had an iPod. He was suddenly fixated, wanting to know what kind of music was on it. 

“Here, play that album, you guys’ll like it.” Derek pointed at the screen as Boyd scrolled through the menus. 

The sound of a jet engine blasted through the small speakers. Boyd turned it down some, unsure of what to make of the noise, then a flight attendant came through saying _’Ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard._ A violin broke through the jet noise and lead into a heavy bass line. It was different than anything he usually listened to, but it was awesome. 

“Okay, okay, so first, when did you get an iPod?” Stiles asked as Derek sat down next to him. 

“2010,” Derek answered literally. 

“That’s the same year as your Camaro.” Stiles noted, wondering if the two were connected. 

“Yeah, that’s when Laura finally contacted my parents lawyer,” Derek answered, explaining a little bit about where his seemingly endless supply of money came from. 

“So who is this?” Stiles asked, not wanting to dig into anything that might ruin the good time they were about to have. 

“It’s a band called Floater. They’re from Portland.” 

“Floater? Like a dead body found in water?” he asked, a little disgusted. 

“Yes, exactly.” Derek answered, smiling like it was an inside joke. 

He couldn’t figure out what to ask next, even though he felt like there was much more to this story. 

“Did you know them when you lived there?” Isaac asked. 

“Yes, I used to live with them actually.” Derek offered to everyones surprise. “The lead singer, he’s one of us, an Alpha actually. No one else in the band is like us, but they all know. He’s all about getting back to nature and being one with mother earth, really intense self examination and stuff. Laura was miserable there.” Derek smiled as he talked about Laura. 

Erica got up and walked away from the fire, Derek watched her go with far too much concern on his face. Boyd was digging through the box of dry goods for the stuff to make S’mores. His dad was helping him pull everything out and set up a little station. He looked back at Boyd and did the creepy Alpha thing, sending some sort of command silently that Boyd couldn’t ignore. Boyd stared at Derek for a moment and got up to follow Erica. Isaac stepped in, taking over for Boyd seamlessly as his Dad finished setting everything out. 

“Okay kids, I think I’m going to go home. I feel like a zombie, I’ll expect you home in a couple hours Stiles,” his dad said, getting up from his chair and offering it to Isaac. 

“C’mon Dad, you can stay and have a s’more. I’ll make it,” Stiles said, getting up to talk to his dad. “I slept the whole time you were hanging out.” 

“I know, but I’m only working a half day tomorrow, we’ll go get some lunch at the diner, okay? I’m dead on my feet kid, I’m old,” his dad said, then hugged him tight and patted his back. 

Stiles walked him to the Jeep and pulled out everybody’s stuff. He gave his dad the keys. Everyone else said goodbye and his dad got in the Jeep to go. Stiles shut the door for him and waved goodbye as he pulled away. The Jeeps tail lights bounced in the darkness. He stood watching as Derek walked behind him, heading for his motorcycle. 

Something felt wrong, anxiety crawled into his guts and suddenly his skin felt tight and uncomfortable. Derek loomed in his peripheral vision. Something was here with them something that terrified Erica. All day he had let the connection to the pack be a tiny thing in his mind, something small and unobtrusive, but the dread Erica felt made him open up. 

The Jeep stop at the tree line on the opposite side of the deputies property. Derek was saying his name, but it sounded like an echo underwater. Adrenaline rushed into his veins, his Jeep was fishtailing backward frantically. The Jeep turned sharply harshly illuminating a huge Alpha werewolf standing in the middle of the road. It turned to the Jeep and let out a long, earth shattering roar. 

He was frozen in place, he wanted to scream, fight, anything but stand there and watch his dad be ripped to shreds by some nightmare monster. It didn’t feel real, it couldn’t be real. Derek rushed past him, then Isaac was screaming his name, pushing the spiked bat into his hands. Then he was running, full speed, with the bat in his hands. 

Derek was ahead of him, running faster than Stiles could. A deafening roar ripped out of him as he took the huge beasts attention away from the Jeep, and his father. Derek tackled the Alpha, ripping into him brutally, striking with his claws at it’s face. Derek flew backward as the Alpha tossed him off, he landed on his feet and lunged at the Alpha again. Gun shots rang out and the Alpha howled, then scrambled away, running into the night. 

A moment of relief washed over him as he got closer, then Derek jerked unnaturally, falling backward. He screamed at his dad to stop, he was only a few feet away as his father fired another shot into Derek’s chest. He threw his bat down and slid across the gravel, diving in front of Derek before his dad could shoot again. His dad rushed forward to pull him away. He held his hands up, shouting at his father telling him to stay back. 

Derek was unconscious, stuck somewhere between life and death. The Alpha wasn’t gone yet, they couldn’t do this on their own, they needed Derek. He had to fix this, he could fix this, he just had to think. He jumped up and grabbed his father's shirt, searching in his fishing vest for the thin pliers Stiles was sure he had. Inside right pocket, his fingers brushed metal. He pulled out the pliers and rushed back to Derek. 

Shouting, demands echoed off his ears but he ignored them as he dug the pliers into the hole closest to him, nearest Derek’s heart, hoping and praying the bullet had lodged close enough to the surface. Bones shifted and healed, fighting him as he searched. The pliers scraped against metal, he gripped it, yanking out the bullet brutally. 

The other bullet hole was further away from Derek’s vital organs. He pushed against it but Derek shot up, alive and terrified. Derek shook with pain as Stiles helped him to his feet. He coughed and shook as blood poured out of his mouth. He pushed Stiles away and staggered toward the tree line, picking up speed as he went. 

Stiles ignored his father, pushing him away as he shouted again. Stiles jumped in the cab of the Jeep, his Dad jumped in next to him, still talking, still demanding answers. He threw off the brake and barreled through the clearing up to the tree line. He slowed as he came around the corner and went off road. He stopped when he saw the trees shaking. He momentarily considered driving his Jeep through the trees like a tank, but they were too tight, and he couldn’t be sure who he would hit. 

The sounds of of the fight got louder as he stepped out of the Jeep, his dad screamed at him to stop and opened his door to try and stop him. Stiles grabbed his bat and ran toward the sounds before his father could stop him. The growls, snapping and fighting got louder and he slowed down, trying to see through the trees, hoping for some advantage with surprise. Suddenly something large was barreling toward him. He braced himself, ready to take a swing at whatever came out, hoping it wasn’t one of his.

A long, screaming howl shattered his ears, echoing in his mind over and over. Erica. He sprinted toward the sound. A muscle snapped in his knee as his foot fell wrong, but he didn’t slow down. Something huge rushed out from the trees, so close he could smell the acidic stench of it. It’s Alpha form was even more twisted and gruesome up close. It looked toward him as it rushed past. He swung down hard, catching the beast’s shoulder with the spiked end of the bat. The twisted screws ripped through the flesh like butter. The blood spray hit his feet and legs as his swing followed through. 

The Alpha jerked backward, kicking toward him as it fell close to the source of pain and damage. Stiles brought the bat down again, ripping into half of the creatures face. The Alpha lunged for him, stopping short as it fought against it’s one useless arm. Shock registered in it’s one good eye as The Alpha realized this vicious, feral thing ripping him apart was a skinny human kid. Stiles didn’t run or step back, he lifted the bat again, intending to die destroying this thing if he had to. The Alpha flinched and backed away, running while it still could. 

Arms wrapped around his shoulders, stopping him from running after the Alpha. His bat was taken from him as he lost control of his legs. His chest hurt, every breath he drew in felt like stinging pain. He wanted to struggle, get away and kill the Alpha, but the arms that held him woud not let him go.  
Scott filled his vision, asking him where it hurt, what was wrong. He shook his head and grabbed Scott’s shirt, words forced their way out of his chest as the pain got worse. 

“Erica, where is Erica.” 

Scott looked over his head at whoever was holding him, they lifted him up to his feet and carried him together toward the tree line. Derek held his left arm over his shoulder, Scott held his right. He felt sick and lightheaded as they got closer. He looked down, forcing his eyes to make his feet move, one after the other. 

As they got closer he smelled the blood, the death. He looked up and saw her hair, her head, too far away from her body. He choked out a noise, it was supposed to be a word, but he didn’t know what to say. Boyd kneeled next to her, his clawed hands folded tightly in on themselves, the blood dripping down his thighs was his own. Stiles pulled himself away from Derek and Scott, tripping over himself as his vision blurred and his head spun. He fell to his knees and clenched his fists, wishing he had claws as well. 

Rage boiled inside him, filling him with an inhuman amount of adrenaline. He got up and rushed toward the headlights shining through the forest. Blind red rage couldn’t keep his brain from forming a plan. He could track it, at least as far as the blood trail led, then he would kill it. Derek stood in his way, catching him before he could get away. He screamed and raged, demanding to be let go. Scott’s voice was outside of him, while everyone else grieved inside his head. 

Scott commanded him to stop. Stiles went quiet and listened. 

“Stiles, you are hurt, you have to stop,” Scott’s words felt like an order he had no choice but to follow. 

Pain and frustration twisted his face as he swore, ugly horrible words. Scott took him from Derek and told him to be quiet, to relax, he was safe. Stiles crumpled against Scott as the fight drained out of his body. Scot held him up, his hand on the back of Stiles neck draining away the pain of his injuries. 

“We have to go back to your dad, he needs to know you’re okay,” Scott instructed. 

Stiles nodded, pulling back to stand on his own feet. He leaned on scott heavily as they made their way back out of the forest. His dad was calling out, searching for him nearby, his weapon drawn. Scott called to him and his dad rushed in, taking Stiles other side just as Derek had done before. 

“I’ve called the station, an ambulance is on it’s way, is anyone hurt?” his dad asked. 

“Erica, and Stiles,” Scott answered. 

“Is Derek still out there? Deputy Taylor is right there, I can take you boys there and hopefully track him down before he hurts anyone else,” his dad said. 

“Dad, Derek didn’t do this, Derek was protecting us,” Stiles said, feeling like he shouldn’t have to explain what his father had seen with his own two eyes. 

“Derek has done this before son, I -- “ 

“Shut the fuck up Dad!” Stiles yelled at his father, stopping and pulling himself free of both of them. “Scott, show him.” 

Scott changed, morphing into the clawed, fanged monstrosity he had become. His dad took a step back. 

“They are all like that dad, I’m the only one who isn’t,” Stiles said, doubling over in pain as his ribs stretched when he spoke. 

“Stiles,” his dad said, reaching out for him.

Stiles pushed him away, reaching for Scott. The light from the Jeep’s headlights illuminated them just enough so everyone could see the black veins trailing up Scott’s arm as he took the pain from Stiles. His Dad looked on as he stood straighter, and took a breath. 

“My friend is dead dad, Erica is dead. She was just like Scott, and she’s laying in the forest back there in pieces. I will answer to you, for everything, I swear, but right now we need to make this right. We need to protect Scott and everyone else. You have to do this, you have to protect your deputies too, they can't know about this,” Stiles said, only making it through the whole thing because Scott was helping him. 

The rumble of the motorcycle got closer, slowing as it came up behind the Jeep. 

“Dad, please,” Stiles asked again. 

His dad ran a hand down his face and put his weapon away, he nodded and told Scott to get Stiles to the Jeep and stay there. They got inside and closed the door, just as they were told. 

“He’s telling Derek no headlights, they were never here. It was just the three of us and Erica. He’s telling them to listen and watch, to find a side road if they see any other vehicles coming. He said not be seen by anyone, even when they get back to town. Go to Derek’s loft and wait. He’s going to say it was a bear attack.” Scott reported, listening in on the plan. 

“My bat, it’s out there,” Stiles said, reaching for his door handle. 

“No, Derek took it,” Scott said. He took Stiles hand and siphoned off the pain as they waited. HIs Dad came back to the Jeep and reiterated the story, then added details just for Stiles. 

“You were out there with Erica, you got hit, you couldn’t breathe, you passed out. That’s how we found you. You don't remember anything, and you aren't sure about any specifics. Do not deviate or get creative. You are hurt and traumatized. You don't remember details, okay?” his dad waited until he nodded, agreeing to the plan. 

Finally, the police came rushing up the road, lights and sirens blaring. His dad slowly got out of the Jeep, hands held up until one of the deputies called out to him. 

The next half hour they waited, watching the police investigation unfold. No one came to talk to them as they went in and out of the woods. The ambulance showed up and the paramedics came to check them out first. They bandaged an ice pack to his injured knee. It was painful and swollen from whatever had torn. They advised him on treating his ribs, and told him he should go get an x-ray tomorrow, but nothing looked too bad. 

Tara, one of his dad's deputies came and looked them over as well. She released them without asking any questions, telling them his dad had asked that they go directly home. They didn’t go back to his house. Instead, Scott drove them to the loft. 

When they arrived the building was dark, only one light coming from the balcony window assured them someone was there. They parked in his usual spot, Scott came around to help him out. 

"I don't want to go in yet, I just need a minute,” he said, holding his hand up. 

“You can’t stay out here alone,” Scott said. 

“We’re safe here, if they knew about the loft, they wouldn’t have been out there looking for us,” Stiles argued. 

“You don’t know that,” Scott said, not budging. 

“Scott, there’s no one here. There are three werewolves upstairs on high alert. If a stray cat jumped on Derek’s Camaro, it would be dead,” Stiles leaned over, exhausted. All he wanted was one minute to mourn alone, then he would go upstairs and ride out the wave of grief that might otherwise eat him alive. 

“Okay, but I’m texting Derek now to come down and get you. You literally have one minute.”

As Scott sent the text, he took a moment to text his father and tell him where he had gone. A second later his dad replied, saying he was already on the road, right behind him. His dad either made an educated guess, or had the deputies activate the GPS on his phone. Scott took care of him as well he could and backed away, unhappy about leaving him behind. He walked slowly toward the elevator, watching Stiles. 

Unable to handle the vigilance and concern Scott would never let go of, he dropped his head back, staring at the ceiling of the Jeep instead of his best friend. 

Erica was gone. The idea didn't feel real, it couldn’t be real. He flexed his hand in front of his face, looking at the blood that painted his knuckles. The creatures blood. The Alpha had kicked him, but at the time he hadn’t noticed. He felt it, but it didn’t feel any different than being bumped by a teammate out of the LaCrosse field. He had been so focused, so full of adrenaline, nothing could have stopped him. If they had let him go, he would have killed it. 

Hot tears fell from the corners of his eyes, trailing across his temples and into his hair. Sensations of pain and breathlessness stopped up in his chest, making him choke and cough as he tried not to wail like a child as he cried. He scrubbed his hands hard across his face, but the grit and dirt on his hands made his skin sting. A long, frustrated shout tore out of him as he kicked the floor and punched against the inside frame of the Jeep. 

None of this was fair, none of it was right. His friends shouldn’t be dying. 

A loud bang right next to him snapped him back, he lifted his hands instinctively to protect himself when something grabbed his arm and ripped him out of his seat. His arm wrenched in it’s socket as he collided with Derek’s bike. The pain sent sparks into his eyes, and knocked the breath out of him. He had to get away, he had to call out for Derek, but he couldn’t make his throat work. The bike wobbled and fell under him. He scrambled to get away from it, as it crashed to the ground, but all he could do was cover his face and head with his good arm. 

Something took hold of his shirt, yanking him back up. He hit the side of his Jeep, the pain in his ribs stabbed through him, making him gasp and struggle for air like a fish out of water. He clawed against the hand holding him up, compressing his chest painfully. Through the dull roar of adrenaline and terror that clouded his senses he heard a woman’s voice, quiet, but hard, like shards of glass breaking in his ears. 

“This is pathetic, I expected a lot more of a challenge from you Stilinski.”


	7. Feels Like the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What do I have to do?” he asked, knowing power like that never came without a price. 
> 
> “I need something from you,” she said. “I need one tiny thing you won't even miss, but... you know the way the universe works. When you want something, there are all these hoops to jump through.”

She knew his name, but he didn’t know her. The woman staring him down had angry brown eyes, and a long, beautiful face. He noticed her earrings, they were long, sparkly, nested in her perfectly curled hair. It was absurdly out of place.  
She dug into his chest brutally, a long moan escaped his lips as the pain sent sparks through his vision again. 

“The really stupid thing is, if I could just be you, I wouldn’t need to go through so much trouble to get what I want,” she said, bringing her hand up to the side of his face. 

A white glow coming from the side of his face, where she was touching him made him reach for her other hand. He tried to push her off, rip it away before she could do whatever she was doing to him. Her eyes filled with white light, her head tipped back and she smiled, a sickening, twisted grin of self satisfaction. She closed her eyes and shuddered, like she was enjoying herself as the glow dulled. She dropped her hands and took a deep breath as he slid slowly to the ground. 

“All that power, and I’ve seen your future, you don't do anything with it. Sure, there are a few random acts of kindness, a truly ludicrous amount of self sacrifice, but you don't do anything remarkable with it. “ She hunched down in front of him, touching his face gently as she looked into his eyes. “How is it someone so unremarkable, would be given such amazing gifts?” 

He slapped her hand away, confused as to what just happened, or who the hell she was, but he understood clearly she was here to hurt him, and probably everyone else he knew. 

“You can’t even imagine the things I’ve done to get here, the people I’ve had to kill, the ex girlfriends I had to call?” She leaned against the back of Isaac’s truck, picking up a long pair of garden shears he had forgotten back there. “Do you know what it’s like to negotiate a deal with someone who tried to kill you?” 

“I wish you would stop fucking talking and tell me who the fuck you are, unless you’re trying to bore me to death,” he said, holding on to his broken ribs tightly. 

“Are you aware of how trite you sound?” she asked, letting the shears droop in her fingers. 

“Are you aware of how fucking crazy you are?” he asked, straining and coughing against his arms. 

A new spatter of blood dripped down his leg, he slowly let go of his ribs and drew his good hand across his mouth. A smear of bright red blood stared back at him. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of that, just as soon as the elevator door opens,” she smiled, pointing the shears at the door behind him. 

“Derek, no,” he pushed himself forward wobbling on his busted knee as he grabbed onto the side mirror bracket on his Jeep. He pulled himself up and walked around the front of the Jeep, holding on to the grill. He looked over at the woman, she watched him with a mix of curiosity and exasperation, completely unconcerned by his efforts. 

The elevator door opened and Derek walked out, taking in the scene in front of him. Stiles held his hand up, shouting at him as best he could to run, get away, but Derek ran toward him, sliding across the loading dock and jumping off as he came to the Jeep. Derek reached out for him, taking his arm and pulling him away when something hit them. An invisible wave of energy sent them both flying against the loading dock. 

A wet, cracking sound reverberated through him as he slammed into Derek. He rolled off, immediately reaching for Derek’s face, trying to see if he was okay. Derek had slammed into the loading dock back first, breaking something loud enough that he heard it. Derek was out cold, he refused to believe he was dead. 

Clicking of high heels echoed through the loading area as the woman slowly made her way around the back side of the Jeep. She rounded the corner, her arms crossed, still holding the garden shears. 

“What really pisses me off about this whole things is, you have everything I want, literally. Power, a destiny, purpose, good looks, one of the most powerful Alpha’s that has ever walked the earth as a champion. You have no idea how lucky you are,” She loomed over him as he crawled over Derek, putting himself between them. 

“He has been so obsessed with power, but no one has ever taken the time to show him how to use what he has. He has no idea where he comes from, he has no idea what he can do. Even as a Beta, he’s more powerful than most Alpha’s, and all you do is distract him from how great he could be.” She hunched over again, then kneeled cautiously next to him. 

She reached for Derek and he grabbed her shirt, pushing her away. She backed away, looking at him indignantly. 

“Fuck you,” Stiles said, forcing his bad arm over Derek further. 

“Will you stop being such a fucking drama queen? I won't hurt him, if I wanted to hurt him, I could do it from over there,” she rolled her eyes and reached for Derek again. 

He lunged at her, his hand catching her arm as she reached out. He pulled hard, intending to knee her in the face, or catch her hair and damage her somehow. She caught herself on Derek’s legs and twisted her arm, clasping her hand around his as well. The same white glow built up between them, light shining from the power that passed between their skin. 

“All touching me does is make me more powerful, Stiles,” She smiled at him, her face soft and kind for a moment. 

He ripped his hand away, cutting off the exchange, whatever she was doing to him. 

“I promise, I won't hurt him. You heard what I said. I want him alive just as much as you do.” She leaned over Derek again pushing Stiles aside. “As a show of good faith, I’ll heal both of you, if you promise not to give me any more trouble.” 

“What the fuck do you want from me?” he asked, trying desperately to understand what the fuck was going on. 

“I’ll tell you in a minute, for now, just put your hand right here, okay?” The woman pointed to Derek’s chest, where she had pulled his shirt down. 

He reached out immediately, hoping to feel Derek’s heartbeat, some confirmation he was still alive. A faint flutter pulsed through his neck, but he was only barely alive. The woman put her hand down next to his, and grabbed the back of his neck, holding on to him so tightly he felt like he might pass out. He clenched his teeth as power flowed out of him, burning his veins like molten lava. He could hear himself crying out, but it was so far away. 

Red, glowing veins pulsed up his arms, just like Scott’s and Derek’s did, but he could feel himself healing, the pain in his ribs slowed to a dull ache, then disappeared. His arm loosened popping back together and coming back to life, like nothing had ever happened to it. Waves of energy poured into him, he knew the voice in his head. He felt the familiar scratching and howling behind his eyes. The wof that embodied the energy that made Derek a shape shifter, was in his head. The power ran through his vision, into his arms, his chest. The wolf howled in his mind, begging him to draw more, take as much as he could and rip the woman to pieces. 

Derek’s chest burned under his hand as he drew out as much as he could, sinking it deep into his body, taking in massive surges of power that ripped his veins apart as he drew it in. The Alpha snarled and howled in his brain, filling him with rage and burning blood lust. He looked over at the woman, her mouth hung open slightly and her eyes glowed white. She couldn't see him, didn't know what he was doing as she stitched Derek back together piece by piece. 

The sound of tires broke her concentration. She let go of Derek, stopping the transfer of energy as the car behind him came to a stop. 

“Stiles?” his Dad called out. 

He turned to look, just as the garden shears went flying through the air toward his father. In the blink of an eye his dad was dead. The garden shears hung from his throat as blood gushed around the wound. His dad shivered slightly, then slumped over, eyes open. 

The woman stood up next to him, smiling at what she’d done. He reached out swept her legs with one powerful swipe. She fell, reaching out for him, an angry, surprised expression on her face. He caught her hands as she reached for him, threatening to take more power, to destroy him. A long breath dragged through his lungs, he felt a world of infinite torture brewing inside his mind. The white glow started to flare between them as she struggled against his new strength. 

“No,” he said, his voice sounding like large, hollow roar instead of anything human. 

The glow snapped off like a light switch, and the woman laughed. Stiles grabbed her throat and tightened his fingers, holding on to her neck as he got up. She struggled and scrambled under him as he held her, uncaring if she was hurt or broken as he walked to his fathers police cruiser. She held on to his arm, gripping him tight and struggling, but nothing she did could touch him. He looked at his father, saw the blood covering him like a waterfall of red down his shirt. He stopped at the door, leaning against it as the grief welled up inside him. 

The woman had stopped struggling so much, he picked her up and slammed her against the side of the cruiser, holding her face down against the top of the door. 

“You can not begin to imagine the kind of things I am going do to you,” he promised, his voice low and hollow, filling the space around him as it echoed off the walls. 

“I can -- “ The woman gasped, struggling to make words with her mangled windpipe. They came out hoarse and broken. “I can bring him back.” he heard her words, her heartbeat. He saw the fear in her eyes. She wasn’t lying. 

The wolf howled and clawed at him, fighting against his choice not to immediately bring her a untold amounts of pain. He looked over his shoulder at Derek, hoping he would be awake, but he was still out. His chest rose and fell softly. The connection between them was powerful now, the wolf was trying to bring to back, trying to wake him up, but he wasn’t quite healed enough yet. 

“Please, I can save him.” The woman’s eyes darted in terror as she clung to his arm. 

She struggled for breath, trying to hold herself up and he let her go. Reaching her arm out toward him, her hand shook as she silently begged him to help her repair herself. He brought his hand up to her outstretched one, passing energy to her until she took a solid breath, then he let her go. She fell to her knees, huddled against the cruiser door. 

“Bring him back,” he demanded, pacing in front of her life a wild animal. 

Surges of hate threatened to take his will away every moment. He fought against the wolf raging in his veins, reaching out with his rational mind to listen to the woman as she made her promises.  
“If I promise, you, your father, and all of your friends will walk out of here all in one piece. Can we talk?” 

Words dripped from her mouth like nails pouring onto the hard ground. He needed to rip her to shreds, he needed to see her insides sliding through his bare, covered in her blood. 

Behind him the elevator motor kicked on, but he couldn’t risk any of them coming down and making themselves into more leverage. He stared at the woman, his red, glowing eyes promised pain if she moved. She curled her knees up against her body and clutched them tightly. He rushed to the elevator and ripped open the door, bending and breaking the steel that held the safety door shut. Wrapping his hands around the electrical line that led into the elevator he pulled, stopping it permanently. He walked around the outside of the elevator and crushed the doorknob to the emergency stairs, jamming the inner workings so the lock wouldn’t move on the inside. 

Before he went back to the woman he paced along the loading dock, trying to strategize, asking himself if Lydia could fix this. Lydia was a banshee. He knew Lydia was a banshee, because Derek knew. Derek could sense her, feel the power she had, and what it did. That was the power he thought belonged to the Kanima. 

Banshees didn’t bring people back from the dead, not without strong magic. The kind of magic that corrupted a person deep down. There was nothing, he had nothing but to negotiate with the monster huddled in fear at his dead father's feet. 

Rage, hate, everything that was keeping him on his feet at that moment, boiled over inside him. The sound that tore out of him wasn’t human or werewolf. He expected to sound like himself, he expected his own, hoarse, broken voice to come ripping out of his lungs, but instead this inhuman wave of sound rattled everything around him. The cars shook and moved, the woman reached up, clinging to the rear view mirror of the cruiser to hold herself steady. Tears fell from her eyes as she cursed herself, her choices, everything she had done to accidentally bring whatever he was into the world. 

For a moment everything was quiet. Nothing dared move while he breathed. Then behind him the door rattled, Scott’s voice called to him from the other side of the broken door. 

“Stiles,” Scott said quietly, too quietly for a person to be able to hear. 

Looking back would mean seeing what he was through Scott’s eyes. Scott said his name again, fear catching his throat as he pounded on the door. He turned around, unable to deny his best friend the acknowledgement Scott needed that he way okay. 

“Stiles, is Derek --” Scott’s eyes shimmered as his face crumpled, his hand trying to somehow get to Stiles through the inches of security glass. Scott thought Derek had done this, that he had stolen the Alpha somehow. 

Stiles walked to the door, his body loosening slowly. He could see himself in the reflection of the door, just barely. His eyes were red, but his face wasn’t his own, not yet. He opened his mouth to tell Scott everything, to explain and make whatever he was going to do okay, but words didn't come out. 

“Stiles, are you okay?” Scott asked, his hand turning to a fist against the other side of the glass. 

“Yes,” he said, his own voice finally coming out of his mouth. “Derek is alive, but my dad --” Stiles leaned against the door, holding himself up against it as the grief consumed him. Tears ran down his face unchecked as he tried to finish telling Scott what happened. 

“Stiles can you open the door?” Scott asked, his voice steady, reassuring. 

He reached for the doorknob, about to rip it off and remove the innerworkings to let Scott out, but a warning went off in his mind. He stepped back and shook his head, thinking through the next steps of what he had to do. Scott could not be a part of it. 

“No, you can’t come out here.” He couldn’t let Scott out, he needed Scott to stay safe. “I have to go back, she’s murdered my dad, but she says she can fix this. I’m sorry Scott.” He backed away from the door, wiping the tears off his face with the back of his hand. 

“Stiles, no... Stiles, stop!” Scott yelled at him as he pounded against the door. 

Voices and sounds were getting in his way. He had to go back, he had to make sure the woman kept her promise. He ran back to the loading dock, hoping she hadn’t run away. It didn't matter though, he could smell her, the sticky sweet scent of vanilla and bitch marked every step she had taken. Her path couldn’t be more clear if she drew him a map herself. 

The loading dock was quiet, exactly as he had left it, the only difference was the woman. She kneeled on the ground next to Derek, hovering over him like a mournful lover. His shadow fell over her and she jumped back, standing on her feet, scared to death of his retribution. 

“Touch him again,” he said, jumping off the dock and landing in front of her, putting himself between them again. “And I’ll rip your fucking arms off.” 

The threat of violence woke up the wolf, it didn't scratch and claw this time, it whined, begging to have a say. He promised, it would have it’s chance. It slowed, panting and pacing behind the wall he had put up in his mind. 

“Start talking, or I’ll just let this thing in my head loose again and see what it wants to do with you,” he took a step toward her and she shrunk back against his Jeep, holding her hands up. 

“No, please, I’ll give you everything you want. I swear to god. I can even bring back Erica,” The woman promised, terror thick in her voice. 

“What do I have to do?” he asked, knowing power like that never came without a price. 

“I need something from you,” she said, swallowing hard and breathing deep. She was about to cry again, but she held it back, kept herself together. “I need one tiny thing you won't even miss, but... you know the way the universe works. When you want something, there are all these hoops to jump through.” 

“Hoops,” he nodded taking another step toward her. She whimpered and pushed herself as far away from him as she could. “Keep talking, and get to the point before this thing up here get’s bored.” he said, pointing to his head. 

“ I can’t -- I can't have what I want unless you give it to me this thing. I can’t even do what you need me to, unless you give it to me. So, I need you to want me to have it. You have to give it up of your own free will. None of this will work unless you do, do you understand?” Her eyes shifted to Derek then back to Stiles. 

“Why?” he asked, letting his eyes go red, just to remind her what would happen if she lied. 

“There are these ripples that go back in time, destiny, and you have the destiny I need. You can give it to me, I can’t take it, but you can give it to me. Nothing bad would happen to you, you would be exactly the same. You’ll still have your friends, everyone would be alive, but you would just be ordinary. I can’t take this power you have, but fate and genetics are two separate things. Your fate is your choice to keep or not. 

“Once I have it, I can fix everything. I can give you back your Dad, Erica. Derek’s sister Cora will come back too. I’ve seen it all, but you’ll be ordinary.” She stepped away from the Jeep cautiously, watching Derek over his shoulder. The steady heartbeat in her chest, the confidence in which she spoke verified she was not lying. 

She was wrong, all of her was wrong. He could see the way she twisted herself up, all the dark magic holding her together, but through all of her wrongness, all the evil inside her, there was truth. 

Orphan, that’s what he was now. He would become a ward of the state, if he was lucky Melissa would take him in. He was alone, there was nothing left of him. 

“There’s one more thing,” she said, eyeing him sideways as she looked over his shoulder at Derek again. “Just to show you I’m not lying, that this really is the truth.” 

“You want Derek,” he said, knowing all along how much she wanted him, and his power. 

“It’s not that I want him really,” She took a few steps around him,making him decide between doing her bodily harm to stop her in place, or letting her move freely and following her. 

He was already annoyed with her attempts to psychologically gain the upper hand. “If you take one more step, I’ll take that as a forfeiture of good faith and kill you.” 

She stopped, mouthing words he didn't care about. “I’m sorry,” she forced out. “I’m saying Derek isn’t yours, specifically. He’s tied to your fate.” 

“If I give you my fate, you get him by default,” he asked, feeling more and more like he was making a deal with the devil. 

“I didn’t have to tell you that, I was telling you the truth before, and you know it. I told you because I want you to fully understand what you’re giving up, so there is no way it can be misunderstood,” she said. 

“There’s something else, some sort of punishment, some retribution you can bring down on me if I try to get it back from you,” he said. 

“No, you can’t get it back. Once you’ve given your fate away, that’s it. But, love is different than fate. Two people can be fated to be together, but not love each other, not like the two of you. If you try to take him from me, I’ll take back your father. I need Derek as much as I need your fate,” she explained. 

“What are you going to do with it?” he asked. 

“I can only do one thing with it, bring balance to the world. That is your fate,” she said, holding her hands out in a gesture of honesty. 

The truth felt like something ugly when she spoke it, but it was the truth. Derek was waking up, the wolf scratched and clawed for him, whining for the one who would let it have it’s way. He quieted the energy again, holding on to the impression of Derek as he found consciousness. 

“Is Derek really worth your father’s life?” she asked, her eyes fixed on Derek as he woke up, making small noises in his throat. 

Stiles couldn't make this choice with his heart, or his instincts, he had to be rational. He had to count on himself, and Derek. If they all lived, they had a chance to make it out alive. No matter what he gave her, he could still beat her. She was worried about him coming after Derek again, so there was a good chance he would remember whatever happened. If he remembered, he could figure out a way to fix it. 

“What do I have to do?” he asked. 

She smiled, her face twisting into a half grin as she reached out her hand. He understood this worked like everything else. All he had to do was want it, and it would happen. 

***

The scent of old rotten wood filled his nose. He pried his eyes open, reeling at the pain in his head. Derek looked around, wherever he was, it was abandoned, and it stunk. He vaguely remembered looking for Erica and Boyd last night. He must have been too exhausted to go on last night, it wasn’t the first time he had woken up somewhere strange after searching, at least this time he chose somewhere dry. 

As he looked around he remembered, he had come to look at this place once, when he was looking for a new place to live. The loft he chose was far enough from Beacon Hills he could choose to forget about it sometimes, if he wanted to. This place was only a couple miles from downtown, and the Sheriff’s station. 

He wasn’t wearing the clothes he remembered putting on last, and he felt sick, he didn't get headaches, not unless he was damaged profoundly. Something wasn’t right. He checked the loft over, the closets, the bathroom. The elevator wasn't working. He must have come through a window. He went back to the front window he was closest to when he woke up and tested the lock. It swung open easily.

As he stood at the window he saw Stiles Stilinski, with no shirt on, running out of the side of the building below him. He pulled himself back against the window frame and watched Stiles run toward the main road back to town. He was running far faster than he should have been. There was something off about all of this. He watched Stiles for a moment longer, assuring himself he wasn’t turned. 

A deep urge to run after Stiles filled his head, the wolf yearned, begged him to go, to protect Stiles. He shook his head, trying to clear the awful thoughts from his mind. He had struggled with his attraction to the Sheriff’s son before, but his sense of self preservation was far stronger than his physical needs. Still, this felt so much different. 

What was Stiles Stilinski doing out here to begin with, in the same place he was? He picked up his shirt and smelled it carefully, he hadn’t been around Stiles, at least not enough to leave any scent behind. 

This had to have something to do with the Alphas. They must have gotten to him, erased his memories. Stiles could be with the Alphas. Even thinking that felt wrong, but he could have been a victim as well. He decided he should head over to Stiles house soon, do a little reconnaissance. It wasn’t stalking, it was spying, if you had suspicions.

Climbing out the window was more difficult that it should have been, he felt weak. He jumped off the ledge and landed on the ground, rolling with the impact. Bones in his right foot crunched as he landed. He shook it off, but the bones didn’t heal as fast as he expected them to. Something terrible must have happened to him. It wouldn’t be the first time he couldn’t remember a beat down. He checked his claws, his fangs, he was still an Alpha. 

The bones in his foot stitched together slowly as he leaned against the front steps of the door to the stairs. If he remembered correctly where Stiles had come from was a loading dock and elevator. There was absolutely no evidence of anything besides Stiles having just been in there around the loading dock. They had been left here, by something that didn't leave a trail, or didn’t leave one he could track. Peter might know more about that. 

Whatever had happened to him he was alive and in one piece, Stilinski had obviously been fine too. He looked around one last time, feeling like he had forgotten something, or maybe left something behind upstairs, but there was nothing here. He left the building running, much like Stiles had done, headed toward his loft. 

***

A long smear of sweat and grime squeaked across the front door of the Sheriff’s Station as he leaned into it. The familiar bell rang and he ran up to the front desk. Deputy Tara Graham was behind the front counter. The look on her face as he fell into the counter, shirtless and sweating was one of abject horror. 

“Step back, you are dripping on my paperwork, son... What happened to you?” Tara asked him, pulling tissues out of a box next to her. 

“I’m -- I don’t --” he tried to force the words out around his heaving for breath, but he had to wait. 

If there was something wrong, he told himself, if anything had happened to his dad, Tara wouldn’t have spoken to him that way. He had to slow down, not freak out. He shook his head and held his hand out, trying to tell her not to worry about him, he was fine. He stumbled back, looking for his target. He needed to sit, to rest. 

He perched himself on the edge of one of the chairs across from the desk. The sweat and dirt poured off him, dripping all over the linoleum. Tara hated cleaning, with cut backs all of the deputies were slinging mops and brooms now. He liked Tara, she was always there to listen to him. 

“Here, take this, go clean up in the bathroom before your father see’s you.” Tara shoved a clean white t-shirt in his face. It was from his father’s closet in his office, part of his extra uniform. It smelled like him. 

“Tara, my Dad, is he okay?” he asked. 

“What are you talking about? In what way is he okay? Like will he be surprised and angry you’re probably running away from some poor girls house after getting her in trouble with her Daddy? Or maybe you’ve just lost your mind? Go clean up! He’s due back any second. He left a few minutes ago for breakfast.” She pulled him up off the chair and pushed him into the front restroom, slamming the door behind him. 

Tara was a little infuriating, but she made him feel better just by being herself. He owed Tara Graham a lot. Once, she caught him with a bottle of whiskey in his backpack, after she helped him with his math homework. She was putting his things away for him as he talked about Lydia, forgetting about the booze in his bag. She took the bottle and gave him a look that told him this was his one and only get out of jail free card. He was much more careful after that. 

He slung the shirt over the stall door and turned to the sink, following orders. He had a million questions about where he woke up, how he got there, but at this moment what he wanted to know most was why he didn’t have socks on, and why had he been overwhelmed by the feeling that something horrible had happened to his father? 

Whatever had happened to him, he felt really good. Like, amazing good. He had no idea he could run that fast. It had to have been the adrenaline, but he just kept going and going. He was almost as fast as Scott, which sounded ridiculous, but he’d been on cross country since he joined LaCrosse when they were freshmen. He had never been able to run that fast. 

He was hovering over the sink, staring at himself. If he didn't start running the water soon Tara would come back and take him out back to hose him down. He put his head in the sink and doused himself with cold water, then he used the scratchy paper towels to wipe off the majority of the grime that covered his left side. The place he had been laying in was disgusting. He smelled like the inside of his Jeep’s wheel well. He dried himself off with more towels and used the heated hand drier on his hair. The overgrown kid in the mirror looked like he had just taken a shower. 

He checked his pockets for his cell phone and called Scott. As he listened to the rings he wondered what he would say. He didn't have to keep secrets from Scott, but what was this? How did he explain it? 

“Stiles? Whats wrong?” Scott’s sleepy, panicked voice sounded okay. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, just in case. 

“Yes, are you okay?” Scott was was moving around putting on clothes. 

“Yeah, I think so, weird shit. Come get me, I’m at the station. You were picking up groceries for your Mom and dropped me off for a minute okay?” 

“Okay, be right there.” 

Scott, never failed him. No explanation needed. 

Everyone was fine. Tara would hold up his story, she thought he’d been out with a girl, which was much cooler than where he actually was. Those kind of shenanigans she was kind of cool about, especially after that talk she gave him about her younger brother, and her nephews, the twins. 

Oh god, he’d probably have to hear the twin’s story again. 

The station was bustling around the front desk. All the deputies were hanging around a huge boxes of pastries his dad had apparently picked up. He walked around the deputy closest to him to see his dad shoveling an overstuffed, chocolate chip cannoli in his mouth. His dad stopped and pulled the unbitten pastry out of his mouth, brushing his hands off as he set it down on a plate next to him that had two other cannolis on it. 

“Son...When did you get here?” his dad asked sheepishly. 

“Fried butter, that’s what you eat for breakfast when I’m not looking? he asked, annoyed, but mostly surprised his dad would be so reckless. 

“Oh, c’mon, they make these once a month,” his dad said, looking truly defeated. 

“We’re having tofu for dinner, a lot,” he promised, taking one of the cannoli’s off his Dad’s plate. 

His dad shrugged, satisfied with the compromise. He picked the cannoli and took a bite. 

Stiles took his last cannoli and put it in the pink box with the two that were left. He scowled as he backed toward the door, daring his father to say anything. Tara and a couple of the other deputies laugh quietly. Satisfied he had gotten his point across, he turned and walked out of the station with the pink box in hand. He made his way across the street and started walking toward the direction Scott would be coming from. 

A moment later his feet started to feel the absence of socks. His feet had been fine in the station. No redness, nothing. This irritation was fresh, annoying, not like he was suddenly feeling an old wound. It hadn't bothered him to run miles, but suddenly walking was uncomfortable. He thought back, trying to recall anything about this morning beside the panic he felt when he thought his dad was hurt. He felt powerful while he was running, like he could run faster than he was, but it already felt like too much. Something scratched at his mind, he felt like he had forgotten something, like there was something back in that building he had left behind, something really important. 

A familiar beat up sedan lumbered toward him, he slowed down, waiting for Scott to pull up next to him. The car pulled to a stop and Scott leaned over to open the door for him. He climbed into the passenger seat and handed the pink box over. 

“Sweet, cannolis!”


	8. Pull Me Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “She has my fate, or my connection to Derek?” he asked. 
> 
> “I think one thing has quite a bit to do with the other,” Vic said.

For months he’d been living with ghosts, memories just out of reach. There was no way he had enough time to figure this out. He had to, to make this work, but he didn't know how. 

Deaton had sent him home, to pick up something that tied him to his father. He already had his father's badge. He spent a little time flattening it out, but nothing would fix the damage Ms. Blake had done. Deaton had also instructed him, and him only, to get some sleep and get right with himself. He knew how fucked up Stiles was. They were all fucked up, but he felt like he was on the brink of losing it. 

He sat in his room, alone. Thinking, hoping something would come to him. He sat for what felt like ages, but when he looked at the clock, only minutes had passed. There were too many ghosts in this house. He remembered seeing this room bathed in red as he leaned back against arms that held him. A head rested on his, there was laughter, he was happy, but he didn't know where it had gone, or why it felt so vivid. He was so tired. 

Life had become nothing more than survival. He was emotionally burned, like an old wound, an open exposed nerve. He yelled at people now, he was always on the brink of tears. Everything about this used to be so much easier. He was sure there was a time he was good at this, when he did things that mattered. Now, everyday was like a constant reminder that his entire life was   
something he was not prepared for. Something inside him was missing. His sense of purpose and usefulness had been stripped from him. He didn't know how he had gotten so deep in this life, with so little holding him up. 

He should have cracked by now. If he was honest with himself, he had cracked. How many nights had he spent crying alone on his room? How long had he been doing that? Why hadn’t he just said, enough was enough? He knew why, he just could make the words for it. Every time he reached for it, it slipped away. 

There was a ghost of something hanging over him. When he thought of leaving, running away, asking to go to military school, whatever would take him far away from this place, Something was there holding him in place. He wasn’t sure if it was just Scott anymore. Every time he was around Derek he felt like he was about to get in trouble for doing something bad. It was dread, but it was a mild, disturbing kind of dread. Not the kind of dread you feel when you accidentally walk up on a bear. He owed Derek something, like he had done something terrible, and sorry wouldn’t cut it. At the same time he felt stupid, incapable of understanding what he was sorry for. Maybe it was because the guy seemed to be the universal punching bag. 

Derek fucked himself into his own shit storms half of the time. He was usually just trying to do his best, but he didn’t think things through. He didn’t count up all the consequences, or he banked on long shots going right, without a back up plan. 

Being around Scott anymore was weird. The love was there, they were inseparable, but he was so powerful now. He was quiet and confident, the absolute opposite of how he felt most of the time. He stayed for Lydia, that one was easy. His ten year plan had turned into a plan to stay alive for the next few weeks. Lydia was something more than human, but wasn’t sure what. 

There was nothing left for him to dissect. He fell back into his bed, intent on at least getting the sleep Deaton had demanded, though he wasn’t sure how he could sleep with everything hanging over him this way. 

***  
The heat in his room was suffocating, the sweat pouring off him. His head felt like a hangover. The room was pitch black, no light from the window. The glow of his alarm clock reassured him he was in his room still. He sucked in a long painful breath, his broken ribs were aching again. He didn’t remember breaking his ribs, but he was sure he had. 

It hurt to move. He felt around, looking for his phone. He always fell asleep with him phone in his hands. His hands fell on skin, a body. Someone he knew. Slow, rhythmic breathing, the sound was large, like a man. 

“Stiles, are you okay?” Derek Hale’s voice asked. 

Derek’s arm wrapped around him, tightly, hurting his ribs. 

“Derek stop, wait...what are you doing?” He protested, still whispering as he was dragged down into the bed. He saw glowing red eyes, and suddenly he was across the room, in front of his door. 

He was definitely dreaming. 

He opened his door and light came flooding in. It wasn’t Derek looking back at him from the other side of the room, it was him. The other Stiles was an Alpha, but he didn’t look right, sort of like the Kanima. His skin was bluish and translucent looking, his eyes glowed red. The other Stiles took a step toward him and his mouth opened, revealing a monstrous set of metal fangs. 

This Stiles was here to destroy him. 

He ran out the door and shut it behind him as fast as he could. His eyes adjusted to sudden brightness. He was not in his hallway, he was in Coach’s office. His ribs didn’t hurt anymore. At least there was that. 

Looking around he could tell he was in an old version of Coach’s office. He was looking at the announcements in the window trying to pinpoint the time, when he saw himself run past the window. The other him had a buzzed head and a red tracksuit, he also had keys in his hand.   
This was the night he was going to save Derek from drowning. 

“Finally decided to show up?” A deep female voice said behind him. 

He spun around and saw a large, intimidating woman sitting at Coach’s desk. She wasn’t familiar. He turned to run and found himself slamming into her. He fell back into the door jam, hitting his head painfully. If this was his dream, why wasn’t she a tiny, cute strawberry blonde? They were always cute strawberry blondes. He’d be happy if it was someone else, maybe Derek Hale. 

He found himself sitting down in the chair across from Coach’s desk. The woman had her giant, boot covered feet up on Coach’s desk. She was leaned back dangerously, begging the chair to wobble and chuck her out onto the floor. There was something very familiar about her. The black leather jacket, dark grey Henley, and biker boots.

“So you know Derek Hale?” she asked. Without waiting for him to answer she sat up, looking down at him as she tightened her arms across her chest. “So kid, what are you like? 16?” She demanded. 

“Yeah, who are you? and why are you in my dream?” he asked. 

“How do you know this is a dream? And my name is Victoria, people call me Vic.” 

“I’m Stiles, and what the fuck else would this be? I just watched myself run by that window, and I got here through my bedroom door, so, obviously...Dream.” 

“It’s not a dream,” she stated. 

“What do you mean?” 

“It’s a memory. It’s like watching a movie of your life. You can see it, but you can’t interact,” she explained. 

She was so unassuming, matter of fact, he felt like it was the truth. 

“Why?” he asked. 

She was so straightforward he felt like he might actually get a real answer, from someone who didn’t feel like they were hiding something. 

“Well,” she sighed. “I’ve only ended up in places like this a couple of times, and usually it means you’ve fucked something up. Something big, and whatever you’ve done, has fucked up my life as well.” 

“I don’t even know you,” he said, feeling like he was entertaining a very ludicrous part of his dream now. 

“We both know Derek, and if we’re both here, it means we’re the same kind of people,” she said. 

“What does that mean, the same kind of people?” 

“We bring balance to things, were all connected, sort of like a wolf pack, but global,” she explained as she got out of Coach’s chair. 

He followed her as she walked down the hallway, toward the pool. She opened the door and waved him over. He looked over her shoulder and saw Ms. Blake sitting on one of the filter pipes, scrunched down so just her eyes were over the window sill edge. She was watching the other him talk to Derek and Erica through the dark window under the stairs. 

They walked into the room and stood behind Ms. Blake. She wasn’t moving, it was like she was frozen in time. 

“I found her like this before you got here,” Vic said, holding a hand out toward Ms. Blake like she wasn’t sure what to do with it. 

“What’s wrong with her? Why is she frozen like that? She isn’t even breathing,” he asked. 

“It’s your memory, you must have seen her here, but you don’t have this information. You don’t know what she was doing back here. Look at you there, you would have easily seen her out of the corner of your eye. Your brain just didn’t grab on to it,” Vic pointed out. 

“She’s an evil, horrible monster. She’s taken my dad and is probably going to kill him, but I don't think she had anything to do with any of this,” he said. 

“She was watching both of you, dumbass.” Vic pointed out the window toward the other him, and Derek. 

She was evil as fuck, but could she have been involved in all of this too? How long had she been in Beacon Hills orchestrating things?

“Whoa! One minute you’re looking at Blue Eyes like you wanna spit on him, and the next you’re dragging him off like a damsel in distress? You need to put a pause on this brother, I need to see how this plays out up close," Vic laughed. T

The memory playing outside the window came to a grinding halt.

“Okay look, you and I? We’re the kind of people who deal out balance. The universe finds a way to even the score --”

“Okay, yeah I know that part,” Stiles interrupted. “The supernatural is more prone to being thrown out of balance, so there tends to be more consequences to your actions and choices.” 

“Yes, so sometimes that balance has to be exacted. It has to come in the form of a person, a friend, an enemy, or someone who just chases your sorry ass down and locks you up when you’ve fucked shit up too hard for the universe to stand you anymore,” Vic explained. 

“That happens?” he asked, surprised. 

The idea of monster jail, or even monster police had never occurred to him. 

“Yeah, I work for people who can make that happen, but they don’t know who I am, or what I do. The universe sends us things, and we deal with it.” She answered. “So, kid, I’m guessing you’re all tangled up with Blue Eyes over there.” 

He nodded, giving back as much honesty as she was giving him. He wondered if he should tell her that Derek's eyes weren't blue anymore, but alpha red. He didn't know what she meant by tangled, but in his mind, the idea of Derek Hale was a tangled mess. 

“We go way back. He looks good. More meaty. Looks like all the food finally caught up.” She laughed quietly. 

“You knew Derek when he was a kid? Do you live here?” he asked, hoping she was real, and local. 

“No, I live in Oregon. I met him when he and Laura stopped in my town for some lunch, years ago.” 

“Wait, you were Laura’s girlfriend, how do I know that? I don’t know anything about Laura. I had never even seen her before she passed away,” he said. 

He waited for her to answer like she had been, but she stared out the window, unmoving. Her jaw clenched and her head tipped down as she closed her eyes. A ragged breath drew in and out her nose. 

“I’m sorry, you didn’t know,” he said. 

“Who killed her?” Vic asked quietly. 

“Peter,” he answered. 

Vic nodded slowly, her eyes still fixed on Derek. This woman was the person Laura had chosen to fall in love with. He wondered if this had to do with Derek, if they were in love as well. He could imagine the Hales would need to choose people pulled chaos apart by the roots as a job. It might be the only way they stayed alive long enough to keep the family going. 

“Kid, I’m going to find out what’s in store for Peter Hale. If he’s not dead as a fucking doornail, I’ll come down and kill him for you, okay?” She turned around, smiling, but her eyes were wet and sad. 

“That would be awesome, but I don’t think Derek would be okay with it,” he said, hoping her promise was real. 

“Ah, well, fuck that. I don’t give a shit what Derek thinks. Sometimes I don't know what that kid thinks he’s doing, but if Peter killed Laura, he has to die.” Vic said it all very matter of fact, like the inevitability wasn’t a question, just the timing. “Lets go see what’s going on out there, get back to your business, okay?” 

Blue light reflected off Vic’s face, the smell of chlorine was stronger. They were at the pool, only feet away from where the other him was about to accidentally dump Derek into the water. He took a step forward to put a stop to it. To take the stupid phone away, fix everything somehow. 

“Whoa there kid.” Vic grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him back. “Let’s just slow down before we jump back in and start crackin’ skulls.” 

She held him against her shoulder, looking at the scene in front of them. For a moment he was good, helpful, a hero. He was carrying Derek, and he was going to get them away from the Kanima. He was going to protect him until they were safe again, but he failed. Like magic the scene in front of him started back up again and unfolded just like he knew it would. 

Vic gasped as Derek fell into the pool. She held her breath as he dragged Derek up from the bottom of the pool. He knew it was a long ways off, but he didn't want her to see him let Derek go. 

“I know I’m supposed to be here to help, but I can’t stay here and watch if this is what you fucked up. I can’t watch this if Derek dies,” she said

“No, this was a long time ago, he’s alive,” he reassured her. 

Relief spilled across her face. She pushed past him and went to the side of the pool, watching as the Kanima circled them, tested the water. They stood side by side, watching, as two minutes of silence and floating turned into five, then ten. 

“You did this for a long time didn’t you?” she asked quietly, her eyes never leaving Derek’s face. 

“Yeah, about 2 hours,” he answered. 

“Thank you,” she said, eyes still fixed on them as they struggled to stay afloat. 

He didn’t know anyone loved Derek the way Vic did. 

She took off her jacket and kick off her shoes. He was unsure what she had planned, they couldn’t do anything. She was covered in Tattoos, even half naked she didn’t really look naked. He looked away, giving her some privacy as she finished getting undressed. When he heard her slide into the pool he turned around. Thankfully she had on her underwear. 

The long hair trailing out behind her, waving and undulating slowly right under the surface of the water reminded him of Erica. She was passed out on the floor only a few feet from him. Why did Vic’s hair remind him so much of Erica? He had never spent that much time with her. He was sad she was gone, but he didn’t have any particularly special memories. He didn’t think being knocked out by his starter and left in a dumpster was particularly special. 

Vic watched them out in the pool, she reached out and touched Derek’s face. Her hand moved over his forehead and down his cheek. It was hard for him to watch Derek suffer like this. He tortured himself with this memory everyday, and now he was torturing Vic with it. 

“Why are we here?” he called out to her.

“C’mon in. We obviously need to see this. Out of all the days of your short life you choose this one to live in? I’m not watching from way the fuck over there.” she answered. 

She had a point, you couldn’t see or hear much from the sidelines, if whatever was going on in the water was the reason for all of this, but he couldn’t believe whatever happened here was so important. 

“If it’s not important why do you remember every little detail? Why do you think about it everyday?” she asked, turning toward him. 

“Are you reading my fucking mind or something?” He was already tired of this. He didn’t want to watch himself struggle in 3D, the memory in his head was bad enough. 

“No, asshole, you project. Everything you say in your head is louder than when your lips move. In here projecting and talking are the same thing, but for some reason you have your volume turned to eleven. That’s your bullshit, not mine.” 

“What do you mean, my bullshit?” he asked, not knowing how he could control his volume to begin with. 

“Why are you so afraid of not being heard?” she asked, treading water near the other him. 

At that moment he had been trying to comfort Derek, compensate for the things he believed Derek might be scared of. That was the moment he saw Derek as a person. A real, honest to god, almost entirely human kid, just like himself. This was when he started treated Derek very differently. Maybe this moment did mean something. 

He remembered what it was like swimming in heavy clothes. Vic was being as practical as a person could be in someone else’s memory. He undressed, feeling the cold of this place, sliding into the heated water was a relief. He listened to the other him slowly drone on, incessant and full of anxiety. 

He remembered this. He was doing all the work with his arms and he was already tired. He had an hour and a half to go, and he was already on the brink of failure. 

“I don’t know how we made it out of this alive,” he said to Vic as he stared at himself. 

The other him was struggling, but he was worried about Derek. He remembered the burn of his muscles, the tightness in his arms, but all he cared about was seeing Derek’s face stay above water. Derek was asking if he was okay, talking him through how to make things easier. Derek kept trying to see him, not the Kanima. Derek was worried for him, not the monster that stalked them. 

“He knows how hard this is for you. Everything in him wants to tell you to drop him, let him die. He isn’t sure if you’ll make it though,” Vic said as she studied Derek’s face. 

“He yelled at me a lot, later. He was being stupid, trying to make things easier for me, because he was so fucking sure I was going to choose to leave him, let him die,” Stiles said.

“ You didn’t though,” Vic said, not to him, but to Derek, even though Derek couldn’t hear her. “As far as I know kid, you are the only one who has ever done anything like this for him, besides his own family.” 

“Scott has, one time he did, in spite of me actually.” 

“What happened?” Vic turned to him. 

“Derek had been taken by Kate Argent, he had Scott’s phone, and I knew how to find him, but I didn’t. Not until Peter forced me to. Scott found him though, on his own, he didn’t need me to help him,” Stiles spoke with a hard edge of self loathing and bitterness. He hated himself for leaving Derek with Kate. 

Suddenly he felt an impact in his lower guts. Vic kicked him, hard. The water dissipated most of the impact but he still felt like he wanted to puke. But his was a memory, he wasn’t even really in a body. She couldn’t hurt him in here. Immediately the pain was gone. He straightened up in the water and treaded back over without comment. 

“You left him with Kate-fucking-Argent...” The venom in Vic’s voice confirmed she knew exactly who Kate was. 

They treaded water silently for a while. He wasn’t sure if she was going to forgive him for that piece of information, but she was still here. He wished he could hear her the way she seemed to be able to hear his thoughts. 

“So are you actually in my head? Are you really a real person?” he asked. 

She felt real, he didn't think he had created her himself, but he needed to know if this was ultimately some hidden agenda of his own mind, or if this was something outside of himself. 

“I’m on facebook. Laura made me a profile a long time ago, but I check it occasionally. I keep it so my friends will remember to invite me to their shit,” she said, sounding very real. 

“Laura has a facebook profile?” he asked, wondering how he hadn’t found it yet. 

“Not anymore,” she answered, treading closer to Derek, a look of concern on her face. 

Derek’s was struggling, his mouth was slack and his eyes were stuck half open. One of his eyes was bobbing in and out of the water. The other him was talking, telling Derek a stupid story about shooting Scott with a BB gun. The telling was happening between gasps for air. Huge, bright tears were falling from Derek’s dry eye. It looked like he was crying, but his face was slack with the paralytic toxin.

“It’s just a nervous response, his eyes being open like that, and the chlorine,” he explained.

“I know,” Vic said quietly. 

“How do you deal out balance?” he asked, hoping to distract her from the worst parts until they saw what they came for. 

“ I’m a bounty hunter,” she answered. She took a deep breath and turned more toward him, understanding why he asked, and playing along. “We all have the same sort of abilities. We can read body language. We have hunches, vibes, whatever you want to call them. The people around us, the ones who move life along and control things, they listen to us. Sometimes they don’t know why, but they do. 

“The more powerful of us can influence people, like hypnotizing someone, but most of us just think we lie well. Really, what we want others to believe feels more true. We can influence to bring balance, but if we start fucking with it for our own gain, the universe will tear you a new one. Literally, most of the time. In my experience when one of us goes rogue, the biggest baddie in the vicinity will show up and rip you to pieces. So, we have to be careful, pay attention to the flow around us and do what we feel is the right thing to do. Sometimes that doesn’t feel great, but it’s usually what needs to be done to even the score.” 

All of it made sense, but how was that normal, or even reasonable? Was he still human? 

“We are human, we are the human answer to all of the supernatural shit,” Vic answered his projection again. “What is more human than balance? We are weaker, but we can destroy all of them because we have more self control, even if they are smarter.” 

It all fell into place. He would never be like Scott or Derek, he would never be like Allison, he was always too human. He was too weak, too slow, too fragile. He always came up short when dealing out the big hero cards, but everyone around him took the last step on ladders he built. 

“So what do you think I screwed up?” he asked, wondering if she had a theory. 

“Whatever it is, its right here. We just have to look, find it,” Vic assured him. 

“How do you know?” he asked.

“Well, your mind already knows. It’s just stuck in there, like creeper over there in the window. You didn’t notice when it was happening, but it was there. I don’t feel like it’s her though. I’m getting that weird vibe, don’t you feel it? Isn’t it why you asked?’ Vic asked him.

He did feel anxious, like he was about to miss something, or like he was forgetting something big. He lived with that feeling every day. Suddenly the pieces clicked into place. Everyday he thought about this, and everyday he felt like he was forgetting something, missing something big. It was always right now, here when he was remembering this exact moment. 

It wasn’t noteable, not in the middle of all this fucked up shit. Before this moment he was treading water, and he kept doing it for a long time after. But here, in this moment, he felt stronger. His muscles loosened up and it got easier. He assumed it was the adrenaline, the endorphins finally kicking in, but maybe it was something else. 

Like a light switch being flipped on he saw it, like dust floating in the sunlight, it moved all over them, just above the skin. Derek was sort of red, but his was white. 

“I see it,” he said. 

They watched as the red around Derek moved closer to him, flowing in around his neck, where his clavicles met. His energy did the same for Derek. This is where the tides turned, when he knew they would live through it, and Derek started to recover. 

Vic looked over at him and closed her eyes, a painful expression drawing her eyebrows down tight. “It’s gone...”

He held his hands to his throat, but there was nothing there to protect. He knew there was nothing, because he had given it away. 

“I gave it away,” he said, feeling like it had been the right thing to do, but it didn’t make the reality any less devastating. “I don’t know why I did it, or who I gave it to.” His mind worked as he counted off the people who were around him. He would have given it to someone he trusted maybe, but why? 

Vic pulled him to the side of the pool as his vision blurred. The burning, pitiful tears clumping in his eyelashes. He was such a child, to cry for something he had given up of his own free will, something he didn’t even understand.

He pulled himself up to the side of the pool and sat next to Vic. Through his bitter self pity, he saw what really flowed between them. The blue static like light reached high above them, like an intricate sculpture of light. It was their lives fusing together, the pattern of them being written, right at that moment. 

“You see it?” Vic asked. 

“Yes, but why do we see it now, and not then?” he asked, needing to know why he wouldn’t know this, if it was so important, why wasn’t he told. 

If he had known, he never would have given it up, he would have held tight to the thing that helped them survive this. 

“Who knows this shit? We don’t get memo’s kid, not unless we fuck shit up royally, but that’s true for everyone, not just people like us,” Vic answered. 

“What do you see when you look at me now?” he asked, hoping something remained. 

“Nothing, It’s just black, empty. Like it was ripped out by the roots,” Vic said. 

She didn’t feel sorry for him. She knew better than he did what this was, and what it meant. All of the answers he was looking for were trapped in his head. They were snaking around in his mind, right under the surface. They had been for a long time, he didn’t know why he couldn’t remember, or what was stopping him. 

“We need to think about this rationally, one step at a time,” Vic said, her voice was calm. She sounded like his mother, or Lydia. “We need to track backward methodically until we see where it changed. There had to be something that happened to you. Maybe something that you can’t quite explain, something that didn’t make sense at the time.” 

It made sense, if things changed for him so drastically, one minute he would have been connected to Derek, the next, he wasn’t. They had spent so much time together this summer, looking for Boyd and Erica. He had no idea where to begin. He watched his feet in the water, the light and water distorting everything until they didn’t look like his feet anymore. 

“There was a morning, I woke up in a place I didn’t know, but I can’t remember. I think my feet hurt,” he said, trying to grab onto the memory. “I think Erica was there, and there was dirty water.” 

“A river, or a lake?” Vic asked. 

“I saw something earlier, before I came here. It was me, but I was different. I was a werewolf, an Alpha. I feel like wherever this goes, I end up there, and I’m scared. I can’t be that.” He hung his head, not knowing how to reconcile his terror at the possibility of becoming a monster like that, when he loved one so much. 

“I don’t think it works that way. Whatever took your fate could have changed your past, but if you were an Alpha, this would no longer be your fate. It would disappear the moment you were changed. It would pass on to someone else, or die off,” Vic said. 

“Can you be like an Alpha, but not a werewolf?” he asked, wondering if Vic knew everything, or if she had just been lucky so far. 

“When creatures and humans share a connection sometimes, they can take on the traits of that creature, but I’ve never heard of that happening with werewolves. People are in wolf packs all the time. There are people called Emissaries that are regularly part of more established packs. They become more powerful as magic users and heal faster, but nothing truly remarkable.” Vic answered. 

“There was this kid Matt, he had a connection with the Kanima. He was telling it to do this to us. He ended up with skin like the Kanima,” Stiles remembered, verifying Vic’s information for himself. “Something could have happened to turn me into that, but I was still human.”

“It probably wasn’t permanent, my best guess would be it was your last ditch effort to fuck shit up before all your choices were taken away. That’s how we roll. We use all of our resources, we save as many people as we can.” 

Vic’s explanation freed him from the overwhelming fear he felt. He closed his eyes, reaching out to the memory again. He was running, he was afraid of something. 

“Oh, my god, cannolis,” he said, and suddenly they were standing on the sidewalk across from the Sheriff’s station. 

“The Sheriff is my Dad. I was there because I was worried something bad had happened to him,” Stiles said as he watched himself run up to the door. 

“Why?” 

“Because I woke up in this abandoned factory, I have no idea how I got there, or why I was only wearing my pants and shoes,” he said.   
“You woke up half naked in an abandoned factory with amnesia? Fuck... Take us there!” Vic said, exasperated. He stood there looking from the station and back to Vic for a moment until Vic grabbed him by the shoulder and tossed him into the street. He stumbled and ran into the loading dock at the old factory. 

“How could I forget this place?” ha asked, not really questioning how things worked anymore, just why. 

Turning around he investigated his surroundings. It was empty, the other him was laying on the floor, sleeping soundly. 

“Stiles, hit pause, look,” Vic said. 

He followed her line of sight to a dark figure hunched over the brick wall on the far side of the loading dock. He heard brick scrape against brick, then the figure stood, and walked toward them. 

The figure was a wavy, dark ghost of sorts, but he could hear the tapping of high heels. Vic moved silently toward the figure as it made a straight line for the other him. It stopped right in front of the other him. It’s outline was tall and slender, but the figure was blurry, like looking at someone through a glass of water. The other him breathed deep and open his eyes for just a moment, the figure suddenly pulled into focus, it was Ms. Blake. 

She bent down and patted the other him on the head. He wanted to kill her, strangle her, beat her senseless but nothing like that would work here. She stepped over him and continued on, jumping up on the loading dock and opening the accordion door on the elevator. She got in and locked the door, where she couldn’t be seen. 

They waited in silence as the other him woke up, looked around and got up, frantic and full of adrenaline.

“Pause, pause!” Vic held up her hand. He stopped the memory again. “Look here, what the fuck is this?” She waved a hand over the other him’s shiny, sweaty chest. 

“I don’t know, I guess I looked pretty ripped...” He wasn’t sure what that had to do with any of this. 

“The currents bro, I could give a rat’s ass about your boobs okay?” Vic rolled her eyes. 

He looked again, changing his expectations of what he would observe, then he saw it. His static currents were red, bright red. 

“Red like an Alpha,” Vic said. “And buddy, you’re still human.” 

“There is a pack of Alphas here in Beacon Hills, they--”

“The Alpha pack is in Beacon Hills? Jesus Fucking Christ... No, this is not them. This doesn’t happen unless an Alpha heals you, but most of the time that leaves the Alpha not an Alpha anymore, or dead. Know any Alphas that like you enough to potentially die for you?” Vic asked. 

“Derek Hale is an Alpha.” he said, sure she had noticed the color of his energy at the pool, but still worried he should have corrected her when she called him Blue Eyes. 

Vic dropped her hands to her sides and stared at him, defeat permeated her whole stance. She walked over to the loading dock and sat down on the stairs. 

“How? If Peter is still alive?” she asked. 

“Peter came back.” 

“He used Derek somehow didn't he?” 

“Yes, and my friend Lydia.” 

“I’m going to kill that fucker if it’s the last thing I ever do,” Vic promised. “Take us upstairs. I have a feeling you’ve spent some time here. this isn’t just some random place. This probably meant something to your life, before she changed it.” 

In a moment he was standing next to Derek, who was looking out the window. 

“He’s still an Alpha. Something else must have happened. The other you down there was jacked up on some crazy powerful energy, you didn’t know how to read what you sensed,” she said, explaining why Derek was in such great detail. 

“This place, looks so familiar.” He turned and looked at the walls, the high vaulted ceilings, the half, third floor where the bedroom used to be. “Wait, there was a bedroom up there.” 

“You should turn this back on and see how far it goes,” Vic suggested.

They watched Derek pull back from the window, then step forward again as he got further away. He waited, watching until the other Stiles disappeared out of sight. 

“It’s not gone from him,” Vic said pointing at Derek’s chest. 

Derek seemed frozen in time now, he didn’t have anymore information after this. The memory continued on, but here there was nothing left. He wished he’d stopped, looked back, seen Derek. He wondered if Derek had forget about this the same as he had. 

“It’s the two of them now,” Vic said over his shoulder. “I looked at her in the elevator, I think she hid there until you were both gone. You must have given it to her.” 

“She has my fate, or my connection to Derek?” he asked. 

“I think one thing has quite a bit to do with the other,” Vic said. “Do you trust me?” she asked. 

“Yes, he answered, without hesitation. 

“Take to the place in here that feels the strongest, just walk around until you feel something coming back to you,” she said. 

“That’s easy, upstairs. I haven’t stopped thinking about it since we got here,” he said. 

“The bedroom?” she asked, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Great. No wonder you stopped projecting every stupid thought, I’m sure you don't want me seeing all the shit you two got up to up there.” She walked away muttering, heading for the stairs. 

“Us two, you mean me and Derek?” he asked, following her. 

“Are you challenged? I’m not super excited about this. I know how young you are, and I swear to god, if you get him in trouble with your dad... I will have your ass.” Her voice got faint as she walked around the top of the stairs. She was waiting for him at the top, her eyes narrow with accusation. “Fate doesn’t really give a shit about local consent laws, and neither do dumbasses in love.” 

He felt like an insect pinned to a board, feeling guilty for things he didn’t even remember doing. 

“We don’t know...” he trailed off, understanding how ridiculous he sounded trying to pretend he wouldn’t lay into Derek Hale like a grade A steak, given half the chance.

Vic nodded, full of intense disapproval. 

“Stop looking at me like that, I haven’t done anything,” he said, sticking to the literal interpretation of the events he clearly remembered. 

“Not yet...” Vic took his hand, leading him into the long, dusty room. The doorway had been broken out years ago, though the iron hinges were still attached to one side of the wall where a sliding door used to be. 

“Here was the bedroom?” Vic pointed through the open wall and into the larger space. “This is the part you think you remember?”

“I know it used to be a bedroom, but I have no idea how, or what it looked like.” He clarified. 

“I think these memories are closest to the surface, so we are going to start here.” 

She grabbed him by the shoulders and positioned him in the center of the long part of the wall, then kicked his feet apart so he had a wide stance and she backed up to the wall opposite of him. 

“What exactly is going to happen here?” He was beginning to feel a little nervous. 

“You can’t think about this too much, just trust me that it will work. It’s going to hurt, a lot. If we do it right, your head is going to feel like it’s exploding. I might disappear, but I will try to hold on as best I can.” She faced him down, putting on a game face that reminded him far too much of Derek. Suddenly she had black gloves on, and shoulder rig with a gun in the holster. 

“Um, you're not going to shoot me, are you?”

“No, sorry, this is just my taking care of shit gear. You don't even want to know what’s in my pockets right now.” She took in a deep breath and planted her feet solidly on the ground. 

“Oh great, that makes me feel so much better.” He hugged the wall, preparing himself for the pain he didn't want to see coming. 

“That wall behind you?” She pointed with both hands, emphasizing her target. “That’s the wall in your mind. You and I are going to break through that wall.” 

She said it so matter of factly that it seemed feasible, but he also knew the things she said had the power to feel more real. She had just told him so not too long ago. 

“Stop thinking about it dumbass,” she said with a snarl. “I told you, it’s going to hurt like a son of a bitch, so you concentrate real fucking hard on keeping me here, and I’ll do the rest.” 

He nodded his head and squeezed his eyes shut. He imagined throwing his arms around Vic and holding through whatever was coming next. He decided to count to three, then open his eyes if nothing had happened. He heard the footsteps, then it felt like his chest was being crushed, but the pain was all in his head. His arms flew up and wrapped around her as they made impact with the wall. Blinding light filled his vision as he listened to bricks snap and fall all around him. 

Pain took over his whole body, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t move.Everything was darkness. Whatever was happening to him was all in his mind, but it wasn't something he was imagining. This was breaking through something that was built there to keep him from the truth. He imagined electricity being forced through the shriveled up neural pathways in his mind, the dead ends that stopped him from accessing the memories. You shouldn’t be able to feel your brain, but the pain was a toll, a price he had to pay to get it all back. 

His heartbeat was slowing down, he had been in this dark place for too long. His name was being shouted, pain kept him from breathing. Something was pounding on his chest. He dragged air into his frozen lungs. The dust from the bricks burned his throat and mouth like acid. He was screaming, kicking, his whole body rejected everything about this reality, except Vic. She was saying his name and holding onto his shoulders, keeping him grounded. 

His second breath invaded his body like an enemy, his lungs shuddered, rejecting the dust filled air. His eyes stung as he drew in breath after ragged breath. Tears were falling down the sides of his face, soaking into his hair. Vic pulled him up and held him, his head falling over her shoulder. She brought her knees up, holding him steady as she told him he was okay. He was crying, sobbing into her shoulder. The tears that splashed against her shirt looked like ink. 

The pain slowly disappeared, pulling back to a dull ache. He reached up as wiped off his face, the wetness was clear like water. He reached out and touched the wall behind Vic. It was all in one piece again. He remembered this wall. He remembered the first time he saw this wall. The memories were there, waiting under the surface for him to reach for. 

“He really loves you,” Vic said over his shoulder. 

He pulled away from her to see what she was talking about. He turned around, sitting up against the wall next to her. They were sleeping, Derek’s arm was wrapped over him, his hand tucked tightly between his chest and the bed. 

“This was the strongest memory,” she said as she watched the two of them sleep. 

“I didn’t know what sleeping next to someone like that felt like, I didn't know you could feel that safe after you’d grown up,” he said, trying not to cry anymore. 

“I know exactly what you mean,” she said, leaning back against the wall with him. 

“We have to go downstairs,” he said, putting his hand over hers. 

They sat on the loading dock together, side by side as he fought against Ms. Blake and she coerced him into exchanging energy. 

“That’s what happened,” he pointed to the Alpha energy crawling into his veins, charging him up like a battery. “How did I do that?” he asked. 

“She was some sort of catalyst, or maybe you were. She’s fucking with dark magic. That shit is tenuous and unpredictable,” Vic said. 

They watched in silence as he dragged her like a rag doll across the loading dock to his fathers cruiser. She spent all of the energy she stole from him, keeping herself alive as he crushed her windpipe. Vic cringed as he roared, his pain and rage turning him into something unrecognizable, something caught between werewolf and human, and infinitely powerful. 

This was an impossible situation, with an impossible choice, and impossible end. None of it was his doing. He had been wound up and spun out like a toy, all to bring him here. It didn’t matter that she had accidentally turned him into something so powerful, he couldn’t bring back his father without her magic. 

This must have been why she left him alone, why she gave him such a wide berth, until he got close to Derek again. Fate had decided it was supposed to be the two of them, Stiles and Derek. Some sort of ultimate destiny had thrown them together, most likely to balance Derek out. Someone to temper his actions, and reactions, bring him closer to center instead of swinging all over the place wildly. 

Reality wavered and the air got cold, suddenly, it was silent. The other him had made his choice, given Ms. Blake what she asked for. His life, Derek’s life, Ms. Blake’s life, all of it, rewritten in an instant. He could see it all, as far back as it reached. Paige was killed by Derek, instead of Peter. His eyes were blue now for her death, instead of something that happened to him in the deserts of Arizona. Ms. Blake’s life ran through a series of consequences and scenarios that mirrored their story. The story of Stiles and Derek.

Ms. Blake pretended to be witty, sarcastic, neurotic, medicated, because he was, and that was the script. She wasn’t remotely a passable copy. She didn’t understand why those things had brought them close together. The banter between Derek and Ms. Blake was dead, lifeless, meaningless, but the connection was there. So, onward they traveled. 

Her mimicked copy was fragile and contrived. Derek protecting him from Isaac in the police station. Ms.Blake throwing herself in harms way in the boiler room, to get Derek’s attention. Forcing him to protect her from his Betas. Derek hiding in his room from the police. Derek hiding in Ms.Blake’s classroom. 

It was all the little things, that building slowly into something. Like telling Derek he wasn’t afraid of him, Derek respected him for that, for trying to protect Scott, even though he was terrified. Saving Derek in the school parking lot, taking him to Deaton’s. He did that because it was the right thing to do, even though he didn’t want to. Derek trusted him because he was willing to to do the right thing, even if it was dangerous. That was when Ms. Blake truly went off the rails, when Derek showed up at her car in the school parking lot, bloody and broken. She got careless, greedy, sped things up until it there wasn’t anything realistic left to hold them together. 

Her hold on Derek now was as real as Stiles allowed it to be. 

“You made her powerful, really powerful,” Vic said, breaking his meditation on the consequences of his choices. 

“I know,” he said. 

He had unknowingly traded twelve lives for his fathers, including Caitlin. 

“You couldn’t have known,” she said, watching Jennifer commune with her newly acquired power. 

“I should have killed her,” he said, knowing he never could have done it. 

“You don't know, and you can’t tear yourself apart over these choices. Fate put this in your hands because you can make the tough choices, even without knowing what the ultimate outcome will be. If you killed her, maybe the Alpha pack would have killed you, Derek, Scott and everyone else you know. The body count could have been higher, and the damage even more irreparable,” Vic pointed out. 

She was right, he didn't know, but it didn't make it any easier 

Jennifer wasn’t strong then, she struggled to move Derek upstairs. She stayed behind because she was too drained to run. She was human, somewhat, and she could be killed. 

“I’m going to take it back from her,” he said quietly. “I’m going to make sure she dies.” 

He remembered all the things he had learned about wolves and the supernatural. He remembered taking down Peter. He remembered he wasn’t just a mild mannered school kid with an inferiority complex. He was a monster in his own right. 

“She’s afraid of you, she’s going to come after you directly. She will definitely try to kill you if you give her even a sliver of a chance,” Vic warned him. “You can take back what she took from you, even if you don’t kill her. It’s yours to take. Just don’t try to be a weapon. Look for the weapons around you, the natural consequences. Help the right powerhouse get to her first. It’s not sending someone in to do your work for you, it’s delivering the can of whoop ass the universe already laid out.”

 

He nodded, understanding completely. He had been so lost, feeling like he was pulled tight, about to break. He didn’t feel capable or skilled enough to fight like he should be. Every time he needed to win though, he did, and now he knew why. The universe had been slowly taking it back from her all along, calling to him, trying to get him to fight for it. 

“Don't be surprised if after you wake up it doesn’t seem so cut and dry.” Vic replied. 

An echo sounded through the loading dock, someone was calling his name. 

“Someone is trying to wake you up, but you’re not really sleeping. You’d better go before they think you’re in a coma or something.” Vic warned. 

His name echoed again, it was Scott’s voice. His Alpha, his best friend. 

“I hate to sound so fucking cliche’ but am I ever going to see you again?” He couldn’t imagine not being able to see her, thank her. 

“Dude, this isn’t a movie,” she laughed. “I fucking hope so. Like I said, look me up on facebook, I’m Vic Selure, and Derek knows me.” 

“I will, thank you.” 

*** 

“No, he’s not waking up, I’m not sure if it’s sleep,” Scott said into his cell phone. 

“Scott,” he croaked out. His mouth felt dry, he had a headache. 

Scott turned to him and dropped the phone from his ear. “Dude, are you okay?” 

“ I’m fucking fantastic, I just haven’t slept for days. I got a little deep in it, sorry,” he answered, truthfully. 

“Allison, we’ll be out in a minute... No, he’s fine, I can tell he’s okay.” Scott hung up the phone and slipped it in his pocket before helping him out of bed. 

He grabbed his head as he got up, his equilibrium disagreed with his idea of standing. Pain shot through his head. Scott grabbed him by the neck and shoulder, holding him still as he drained the pain off entirely. He immediately felt so much better. So much pain had settled into his body, he had stopped feeling it a long time ago.

“Better?” Scott asked, concerned still. 

“Fucking fantastic bro, thank you.” He did feel fantastic, better than he had felt in months. “Let’s go.” 

He went to his computer desk and pulled out a notepad. He scrawled out a name, Victoria Selure. He fell in line behind Scott as he walked down the stairs and out of his dark house. He would be back soon, and his Dad would be with him. He had no doubt.


	9. Love Me Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don't know either, but I know this is better,” Stiles said.

Cora was dying. He had drained off so much of her pain, he didn't know if the sick feeling in his gut was from nervousness or the illness taking over her body. He was about to do something he knew was stupid. It was noble, perfect, and his only choice, but pretty stupid none the less. 

Taking her away from the hospital had been a necessity, but he wished they had a better nurse. He wished they had Melissa McCall, he would do anything to have her right now. If this worked he didn't want her waking up alone and afraid. She didn’t trust Peter, he wouldn’t be any comfort. It didn’t matter that Peter had fought so hard for her, no one could ever be sure why he did things, or who he did them for. 

He didn't know what was going to happen to him, but he was supposed to protect Cora. The idea of it was ingrained in him as deep as his own name. He hadn't protected her, he had misplaced her. 

Before all this Cora had been so angry with him for what he'd done with Jennifer. She understood the hiding, the healing, but she didn't trust Jennifer. At the time he defended Jennifer and it was Stiles who had been there to protect her. Stiles was the one who took her to the hospital. The one who was there for her when Jennifer decided to use her as another pawn in her ugly game of revenge.

Stiles had sat by her bedside, waiting till he got there. When he saw Stiles looming over Cora, holding her hand and talking to her, he didn't thank him or even acknowledge his presence. He barraged the nurse with questions, running over everything Stiles tried to say like an asshole. Leaving her with Peter felt like a gamble, a knot of anxiety lived in his gut every moment he had to be away from her, wondering if she would be alive when he came back. Leaving her with Stiles felt like faith, reassurance. When he came back, she would be alive. 

He took Cora’s hand tightly, threading her much smaller fingers through his own. He could feel the illness thriving inside her, turning her blood into something useless, sick. It was suffocating her, destroying her from the inside out. He pulled against the illness, fighting it, taking the evil blackness into himself. The wolf roared, howled, it wanted this, it wanted to sacrifice itself for Cora. The aching snapping jaws, the hungry, tired, heartbeat racing in his chest, it knew what needed to be done. He drew more of it out, tearing and rupturing his already aching veins. The illness was failing, losing more and more ground. 

The last of the power, raged against his chest and throat, howling at him to be let out. It was the last reserve, the red glowing ember that was the center of the burning fire. The one part it always held back to relight the flame. He broke it open like a floodgate, pulling the last of Cora’s illness into the waiting jaws of the wolf. The wolf roared, but the noise came from his own mouth. It took all of the death awaiting her and pushed further, filling the empty space between them with the last bit of itself, connecting them together again. 

His heart felt icy and cold without the Alpha. It was familiar, comfortable. The cold, blue wolf spoke to him as he drifted, reassuring him he had done well. It was sacrifice, it never hesitated to give everything, for love of family, for pack. When darkness came, it would fold into itself, gathering strength until he needed it again. It was infinite, patient, unbeatable. It loved him unquestioningly. He understood it better than he could ever hope to know the Alpha. 

For a while there was nothing but the white room. He wouldn’t remember it later, though he had been here so many times, he never did. 

"Peter! He's awake!" Cora yelled, breathless. 

“Derek you need to drink this” She tipped a water bottle into his mouth. He forced himself to swallow. 

"You're okay?" he asked, searching her face for the truth. 

"I’m doing much better than you are right now." Her radiant, thankful smile was something he hadn’t seen in so long. She looked young, like the child he remembered. “All because of you.”  
Peter laid into him about Kali, the full moon, but he couldn’t make himself care. Cora was better, saved, the rest he would deal with when he had to. 

Cora's hands combed through his hair and ran lovingly over his face and neck. She kissed his cheek and gave him more water. Her instinct was the same as his, to care for him and show him constant affection until he got better. He had forgotten what this was like. 

A few hours later he stood in his loft listening to Lydia Martin prophecize the death of the remaining members of his family. A graveyard. His whole life was a graveyard. He had a complicated relationship with death. His resolution to see this through wavered. He couldn’t let Cora die. He couldn’t die for this, for Kali and her stupid vendetta, for Jennifer and her manipulations. He and Cora deserved more than that, didn’t they? 

After all this time, Cora deserved to have him back. Laura would have taken Cora and run. They would have gone straight to the desert, they would have met up with Vic and gone somewhere. Probably Canada like Laura always wanted. He trusted Laura more than anyone, so her plan would be his plan. He didn't want to go back to the desert, but he missed Vic. Cora was relieved, though she didn’t say a word as they left the loft and drove through the city toward freedom. They both knew what they were doing was not heroic, nothing to celebrate. 

Then they heard Lydia Martin scream. Cora believed the innocent were worth fighting for. Though Lydia Martin had never been his favorite person in the world, she was most certainly innocent. The elevator up to his loft was painfully slow, but it gave Cora time to think, to make him see the way things were. 

“Do you love her?” Cora asked. 

“No,” he answered, knowing she meant Jennifer. 

“Is it because of Stiles?” She asked, her big, curious eyes were full of sadness. 

Sad for him? 

“Maybe,” he admitted quietly. 

He wondered for a moment if he should be sad about it as well. He knew what she meant, though he had never said it outloud. Whatever was between them resisted being named, or even observed. Cora could see it, because she was part of his pack again, even though they didn’t have an Alpha connecting them, they were enough somehow. 

“When we get there, you get Lydia out. I’ll deal with Jennifer.” Derek understood how Cora felt, but he couldn’t risk Jennifer using her again as leverage. 

“Once you have her Derek, don’t hesitate, kill her.” Cora’s words hit him hard. 

He finally let himself feel it, he wanted to rip Jennifer to shreds, or die trying.

Whatever she had used to manipulate him was gone. He hated her, the quiet wolf inside him wanted to see what her blood tasted like. He had only hated one other person in the world this much, but he had been too paralyzed by guilt to do anything about it. Jennifer didn’t even feel like a person in his mind anymore. She was an enemy, she was prey. 

It wasn’t hard to think of Jennifer Blake as prey. She had put herself in his path, frightened, nervous, neurotic. For a moment it had felt real, familiar. Not too easy, but easy enough to feel right. But every time he woke up next to her, he was surprised, like she was the wrong person. She didn’t wear her own face, but there was something else she was hiding from him. Hopefully, once she was dead, the persistent feeling of forgetting, of not knowing, would go away. 

The loft was covered in blood, glass, death. Cora ran past them to protect Lydia. Jennifer watched her pass like a cat letting a mouse go free. She expected to be recognized for not eviscerating his sister. 

The scent of her attraction to him was overwhelming and undeniable. He stood far enough away from her to make her work for his attention. He sighed deeply, letting the air slowly leave his nose. He knew what she wanted. He lowered his eyelids and locked her appreciative gaze. 

“Why are you here Julia?” he asked, using her real name like honey on his tongue. 

She flinched, blinked, she expected him to be more hostile. 

“I came for you, Derek, I did this for you. I need you.” Her voice was sickeningly insincere. 

She kept saying she loved him, but there was nothing, emptiness. And under that was simply rage and hate. She was a burned out husk that had died years ago. 

“You did this for me?” He asked, hoping to make her talk.

“For us! For anyone who has ever been their victim,” she said.

“Stop talking to me like a politician! Stop trying to convince me of your cause!” He wasn’t going to listen to her pitch again, all he wanted was to know what she had planned, why she was here, waiting for him. 

“Okay, fine,” she continued, “I’ll convince you of someone else’s. Scott. You can save his mother, Stileses Father...” She presented the lives of people he cared about up for grabs, as if they were prizes for him to work for. 

He hated her. He tried to control his feelings, play the game, but it was just too much. 

“How!?” He demanded. 

The corners of her wide, full lips curled in self satisfaction. She believed she had him, trapped between herself, and circumstances he would never agree to. He had to choose her. 

“I need a guardian,” she said sweetly as she walked slowly toward him. “That’s a role that can either be filled by the three parents I was forced to take, or by you.” 

“I can’t -- help you, I’m not even an Alpha anymore,” the wolf inside him raged as she came closer, wanting to feel her blood drip from his teeth and claws. It dreamed of the soft flesh of her neck giving way as he ripped her throat out. 

She said so many pretty words, trying to make him believe he was special. Jennifer didn’t believe for a single moment, she actually needed him. He was a prize, all of this, so she could win the fight and get the guy, like some cheap drugstore romance. She was ego driven, and not very creative. 

“Derek, Don’t trust her.” Cora said sternly. 

Cora was making Jennifer prove herself. Jennifer wanted him to give in to what she perceived as her undeniable sway. His face softened as he took in the desperation that played across her face. She was a tempestuous child, she was angry when she didn’t get her way. She had no intention of letting the parents go. 

There was only ever one way to end this. He followed her. 

As he struggled to pick himself up off the concrete floor of the old brewery he regretted his decision deeply. He understood he had no choice. He was here to put her off long enough for Stiles to find the nematon, or to kill her after he forced her to give the parents up. Her fixation on him, meant it had to be him. She wouldn’t let anyone else get close enough. 

Deucalion was far beyond powerful enough to destroy her on his own, but he was playing his own game. He was using Jennifer as a pawn in his game to get Scott. Her delusions of power were wildly disproportionate to what was actually needed to kill Deucalion. She never stood a chance. 

As he lay injured, he watched Scott struggle, unable to intervene. The air suddenly became charged with something else, something new. It was a heartbeat, many heartbeats in sync with the glowing energy that was gathering around Scott. They were waiting, standing ready. They wanted to belong to Scott, but Scott didn’t know how to take it. Scott had never wanted power, not for himself, not even to survive. 

Jennifer wanted them to fear her, worship her. She wanted to be an evil queen, more powerful than any one else around her, never again subject to someone else's desire for her death. Manipulating her was easy. He saw his window, he said all the right words. The power drained from her as she healed Deucalion. She faltered, but he rushed to catch her, knowing his moment was at hand. 

“What is this?” She pleaded as he held her upright. 

“Healing him made you weak, just like healing Cora did to me. You won't have your strength for at least a few minutes.” He was stronger than her now. He could crush her where she stood, but he had to get her to release the parents first. He wasn't sure that her death would stop the storm. 

“Then you do it... Kill him.” Her soft, weak smile begged him. 

The wolf inside him was quiet, but he was still a predator, he would always have that. She had shown him everything, she trusted him implicitly, she was at her weakest. Now was his moment to destroy everything that was left. 

“No,” he said.

He couldn’t hold back the smile that curled at his lips, as she realised his betrayal. He watched the bewilderment and anger play across her face.  
“What?” she demanded. 

“Like my mother used to say, I'm a predator, I don't have to be a killer.” 

He wrapped his hand around the side of her neck. For the shortest moment he let her believe the touch was good, caring. The cartilage and tendons in her neck made a wet snapping noise as he squeezed down. His weak, human hands were more than strong enough to wrench the remaining life from her body. He wanted her to know that as he made his demands. 

“Let them go.” His quiet command wounded her deeply. She fought, struggled against his grip. His hand tightened, threatening to crush what was left of her airway. 

They fought as she wasted everything she had left. There was not endless amounts of power, tricks ran out, trading in only gave you so much more to work with. The face she chose, the lie she wouldn’t let go of even when she needed every bit of power she had left, was drawn tight with pain and anguish. She hated him now. She understood he would never fall into her arms. He didn’t want her, and he would never love her. All the was left to do was take her punishment until he was whole again. 

As soon as the dark, icy blue power slunk slowly up his arms, and into his eyes, he had won. She had taken so many things from him. She had stripped him of his life. She had used the people he loved. His grip on her neck tightened, her surprise, her pain, was a thing of beauty. 

The circle of mountain ash, her last trick, was the only reason he didn’t beat her to death with his bare hands. 

Scott was standing face to face with her as she continued to threaten his family, his mother, his pack. Her words unlocked something inside Scott, he understood the usefulness of power. He finally reached out and took it. Scott’s intentions, his reasons for violence were justified, he fought for salvation and protection. That was the very core of the power within the mountain ash. It responded to him, switching it’s alliance as it rejected the ugly, vengeful energy that commanded it. 

As easily as Jennifer had thrown the mountain ash line, it disappeared, broken from within by Scott's command. It was over. They left Julia behind, Scott said he would come back and burn the body. Part of him wanted to do it himself, but it was Scott’s call now. 

Staying wasn’t an option for them anymore, nothing about this life felt real except Cora and death. They needed to be away from it, learn to be a family again without the constant interference. He talked to Scott and tied up his loose ends. Cora tried to get him to call Stiles, but he couldn’t open that door. He had no idea what lay behind it, but it was too big to confront. 

When they were finally on the road, Beacon Hills miles behind them, he could breathe again. Driving away felt like an exhale he had held in for too long. It took even longer for him to realize they didn’t have to go to the desert anymore, they could go straight to Vic’s. They didn’t have to hide, or run. 

“Cora, do you miss Laura?” He asked, breaking the quiet contemplation. 

“I miss her everyday... Did you think I wouldn’t remember her?” Cora asked. 

“Do you want to meet Laura’s girlfriend?” He asked. 

“Laura met someone?” Cora asked, surprised. 

“She did, you’ll like her. She lives in Oregon.” Derek smiled. “We can stop where we ran through the woods after leaving Arizona. It was the first real, clean rain we had seen in so long. We couldn’t help it. We pulled over right on the side of the freeway and ran through the trees and mud like crazy people. It was awesome.” 

Cora’s laughed, then her smile faded. “ I’m sorry I didn’t come look for you.” she said. 

“How did you get away?” he asked, they were both sorry for a lot of things. There would never be a better time to talk about the fire. It was long overdue. 

“Mom and Dad pushed me out through the bars on the basement window. I was bleeding and burned when I saw the guys who started the fire come around the side of the house. I ran, and I kept running. I got all the way to I-5 when a police officer stopped and picked me up. They never thought to look in Beacon Hills, it was too far away, and I was too afraid to talk. They thought I was kidnapped.” Cora slowly let her confession slide out. She had probably practiced what she would say a hundred times, just like he had. 

“Cora, I’m sorry.” He needed to tell her what he did. She might be angry, or hate him, but he couldn’t hide anything from her anymore.

“I’m responsible for what happened. The fire was my fault.” 

He told Cora the story of Kate and Gerard, the hunters and the fire. He told her everything. She listened silently, waiting until he was done. 

"Is it like, a full time job? Being manipulated by power hungry bitches?" she asked. 

He didn’t know what to say. He wasn't prepared for any level of commiseration. Even commiseration wrapped up in an insult. 

"I'm sorry, that was an awful thing to say,” she admitted. ”You were only a few years older than me Derek, and my way of dealing was to run and then give the world the silent treatment. You were played by experts. It might have been your responsibility, if you had stood a chance." 

Cora's words should have freed him, but what he wanted was a way to make it up to her. She wasn’t going to give him that. 

"You were spoiled, and stupid... and cocky as fuck. You were -- and still are -- the best person I know, but you were privileged and insecure to begin with. You were so fucked up after Paige died. You needed us, but we were so sick of you being so sad and irritated all the time, because we were spoiled assholes too. We failed you, we should have been there for you instead of being pissed you weren’t there for us. If we had been, you never would have fallen for her bullshit." 

"I don't remember it that way," he said, wondering if she was too young to remember it clearly. 

“Well, I do. I knew you better than anyone else in the family. You took care of me, then suddenly, you were on autopilot. You didn’t care about anything for so long, when you finally started acting like yourself again no one cared what changed, just that it had. Laura told mom she was worried about you, who you were spending time with. Mom told her to leave it alone. I think Laura was figuring it out, she told me not to trust Peter, and he killed her.” Cora had been paying attention, closely. 

“Laura said not to trust Peter?” 

“She was dropping me off at soccer practice one day, a couple weeks before the fire, and she asked me if I knew that Peter was strange. I did know, obviously. He was selfish, and sometimes he was mean for no reason, even when he wasn’t angry. He was fixated on you, and he didn’t like how much time you spent with me. Laura told me not to go anywhere with him, and tell her if I saw him doing anything strange.” Cora made it clear that Laura suspected Peter of something terrible. 

“He was almost burned alive, he couldn’t have.” Derek couldn’t reconcile the possibility that Peter may have had a hand in the fire. 

“Unless Peter had a different plan, and the person who betrayed you, also betrayed him.” 

There was a certain amount of forgiveness Peter had earned in killing Kate. Everyone believed Peter killed Kate because he wanted revenge, but if she had known Peter was in on it. If she worked with him. He could have killed her for betraying him, and to keep her quiet. He could believe both scenarios equally, but Laura’s condemnation of Peter was enough to sway his opinion. He would have to find out more, but this changed everything. 

“Derek, we should pull over, take a breather,” Cora said. 

“ I’ll be fine, we’ll be fine. Why don’t you tell me more about what your life has been like, if you want?”

He took the exit off the county highway and headed toward I-5 north. Toward Oregon.

***

This was a dream. At least this time he knew it was. He had woken up from this dream twice before. Both times he thrashed himself awake, screaming bloody murder. Both times his Dad had come running in, scared to death. There was a time when his dreams about Derek Hale were much more pleasant, but this was just bloody and terrifying.

The woods around him were dense and wild. The trees were tall and old, but they didn’t smell the same as the redwoods he was familiar with. It was dark under the canopy, even though he could see the blue sky above him when the trees swayed in the wind. 

This dream felt real, but not solid, everything moved too slow. It was the same every time. He padded along a deer path, thick ferns and moss made his traveling slow but silent. The ground was damp, not like morning, but like it never dried out. The unmistakable sound of werewolves running got closer and closer to him. Six of them stalking along the trail, slowing down as they caught wind of something.

They couldn’t see him, he couldn’t interact with them, but he could observe any part of this he wanted. 

Derek was the scent they found, and he was hiding nearby. The Weres passed, then Derek jumped down from the tree, thinking he could sneak past them, but they caught his scent, or heard him running. They chased him to a road, and caught him before he could reach the forest on the other side. Two of the werewolves held Derek down while the other one disemboweled him, then the three of them ripped him in half. They tossed his body off the side of the road and ran away. 

There had to be a reason he was watching this play out a third time. He watched the werewolves change back as they walked away. One of them was talking, this time they weren’t nameless, faceless monsters. They were people. They bigger than average guys. They wore flannel and blue work shirts. They all had tan or blue work jeans. They were blue collar, and more than a little down home when they spoke. 

He listened in on their conversation. It was all congratulatory banter until someone mentioned a place called the Ice Axe. They joked about the big city headlines they were generating by getting rid of strays that came to steal from them. How it would keep the idiot tourists away. 

He pulled his phone out to look up the Ice Axe without thinking. There was no google in dreams. The date was clear though, 6 days from today. He scrolled his message history. Messages from Cora, Scott, Allison, but nothing unusual. He selected the message from Cora, it flashed blue, but didn’t come up. He selected it again, then he tried the next one and the next one, knowing it was futile. 

Everything around him began to vibrate violently, a bright light hurt his eyes, then he was awake and in his bed again. The air felt swampy and disgusting. His hands shook, and his skin crawled. A wave of nausea fought against his gut. He scrambled to get to the bathroom in time. 

After what felt like the violent exodus of all of his internal organs, he slid down against the tub, leaning his head back on the cool glass of the shower door. His face and ribs ached. He wanted his dad to come home and take care of him. He thought about calling Lydia, but waking her up in the middle of the night for a non emergency was luck of the draw. Sometimes she was awake anyways, and sometimes she threatened him. 

He hadn’t felt right since the the Sacrifice. Deaton said he wouldn’t, he said they would be opening themselves up to a whole host of potential threats. That they would live with a darkness around their hearts. He expected this. He felt bad, but it wasn’t terrible. For all he knew this was the rest of his life. This was what Deaton meant. 

He could always ask Deaton to look him over, but if he was right about what his dream was, it would have to wait. He only had six days. Back in his room he picked up his phone and sent a text message. 

Stiles: Do we ever dream about the future? 

Expecting to wake up to a message a few hours later, he crawled into bed. He wasn’t even laying down all the way when his text alert went off. 

Vic: Yes, why? Call me. 

A long sigh drew out his nose. He didn’t want to call, because she would have questions. So many questions. Talking to Vic was like getting a dose of what it must be like to hang out with himself sometimes, but Vic had a lot more answers than he did. He stopped his internal whining and sat up in bed to prepare himself for the phone call. 

First he looked up the Ice Axe bar. There was only one surprisingly, on Mount Hood in Oregon. Douglas Fir forests, small population of mostly blue collar workers. It was a lot of information that lined up. At least he wasn’t imagining it. Armed with his new knowledge, he called Vic. 

“Dude, what’s going on?” Vic sounded completely awake in spite of it being 2:30 am. It was the first time he had actually spoken to Vic in real life, not an email, or text message. She sounded just like she had in his memory.

He had made a mistake. He was just going to worry her with stupid shit that didn’t mean anything. 

"Hello, Stiles?" Vic’s voice took on a worried edge. It was too late now. 

“Hey, I’m uh, I had a dream,” he stammered, his cheeks flaring with embarrassment. 

“...Obviously, spill noob, or let me go back to Grand Theft Auto.” She talked over the sounds of the game suddenly flaring to life in the background. 

The idea that she was playing Grand Theft Auto somehow made it so much easier to talk to her. All the times he interacted with her, she was funny, self deprecating, kind of a dude bro, but she knew everything. He had built her up in his head to a place where she didn’t have time for shit like GTA because she was always tracking down a bad guy, or answering his stupid questions. 

She had probably asked him to call because she didn’t want to stop playing her game long enough to text back. 

“In my dream Derek was killed at a place called Mount Hood, 6 days from now by a pack of werewolves. It’s near a bar called the Ice Axe,” he said. 

The game went silent, he heard her moving, walking, then a door opened and closed. 

“Did you have the dream more than once?” She asked. 

“Yeah, three times including a few minutes ago,” he answered. 

“And you’re talking to me? Jesus kid, last time I had a dream like that I puked for days. Are you okay?” She inadvertently answered his next question, he was relieved it probably wasn’t the mysterious heart of darkness trying to kill him yet. 

“I feel sick, but I think I’m fine. I care more about Derek right now though, you think it’s legit?” 

“Did you see the same thing every time, exactly? Then a sort of vibrating weirdness right before you woke up?” She pressed. 

“Yes, to all of it, but I noticed more things every time it happened,” he answered. 

“Then, yes. Have you talked to him? He’s supposed to be here tomorrow.” 

“No, but you can talk to him for me right?” He was glad Derek wasn’t unreachable, that they wouldn’t have to track him down. 

“So, I can tell him you had this prophetic dream and that’ll stop him dead in his tracks. He won’t go to Mount Hood, he won’t ask any more questions?” Vic asked, sounding a little skeptical. 

“No, don’t mention me, just --” The realization dawned on him that all of this would sound completely insane to anyone else, even Derek. 

“Tell me about the Weres. When he brings his plans up, I’ll tell him I have intel on the pack in the area. Maybe that’ll scare him off,” Vic offered, trying her best to be helpful. 

It was the most rational sounding thing either of them could probably do. He didn't want to lie to Derek, but he also didn't want to inject himself in Derek's life when he wanted space. He didn’t think he would do a very good job explaining any of this anyways, feeling as shitty as he felt. 

It felt wrong and strange to hand a problem like this off to someone else, but if it had to be someone, at least it was someone Derek would listen to. 

***

The drive out to Vic’s house was just as winding and green as he remembered. She had been happy to hear from him, and excited to meet Cora. He was excited, he almost felt like he was going home. Cora asked a lot of questions he didn’t have answers for. He told her everything he could think of, but as hard as it was to admit, Vic knew Laura better, at least in those last few years. 

The last few miles of road followed right along the river. The dark waters were swollen with rain. They looked dangerous, but beautiful, just like he remembered. Vic met them in the driveway, she saw them a half a mile before they got there. It was why she chose this house. She gave Cora a huge bear hug, lifting her right up off the ground. Vic commented on how much she looked like Laura, and how much she had missed him. 

She hadn’t changed a thing about the house as far as he could tell. The big brown leather couches were the same, the deck, the grill, even the blue crochet afghan piled up in the recliner was in the exact same place he remembered. Vic and Cora had already started sharing stories about Laura, Vic pointed to the fence Laura had built years ago, down in the lower pasture. 

“Hey, I’m going to take the bags to our rooms, you guys keep talking,” Neither of them acknowledged him as Vic delved into details about how Laura had procured the posts for the fence. Truthfully, it was a funny story, he didn’t blame them for being too engrossed. 

He made his way through the house with all of the bags. The first door he opened was the smaller room closer to the gun locker. The bed was short and the blankets had big bright orange hibiscus on them. It took about half a second to decide Cora was sleeping in here. 

The next room he opened used to be another large bedroom with a king sized bed, It had sort of been his room before, when he wasn’t sleeping in the loft above the living room. 

When he pushed the door open he came face to face with what looked like a war room. A computer sat on one wall, with two huge screens, black and silent. The walls were covered in pictures and articles, handwritten notes. It was all very well laid out, and what he chose to read was coherent, despite the massive amount of information. He saw names and dates, ages, places of work. His own picture caught his eye, and right next to it, Stiles. 

Anxiety crawled up his arms, as he read the information next to Stiles name. His age, birthday, place and time of birth. Then in big red letters was the word Emissary. Did Vic think Stiles was an Emissary? He could see Stiles following Scott there, but he always imagined Stiles joining his Dad as a Deputy, or maybe the FBI. There was no information next to his picture, not even his name, and they weren’t connected in any way to anything else on walls. 

There was very little written for him and Stiles compared to the rest of the people on the walls, but there was a lot of blank space. He wondered if he actually had anything to do with the rest of it, or if Vic had just been checking up on him, leaving room in case something happened to him, but why was Stiles picture right next to his? 

He looked around the room for clues to what exactly all of this was, when he spotted a big, weathered yellow legal pad with Blue Eyes written on the top. A series of nearly illegible notes brought him to the conclusion that he was supposed to die at the hands of a pack of Weres on Mount Hood in five days. 

There was no way he was dragging Cora into this bullshit. He sent a text to Vic and listened to make sure she got it. A moment later she was quietly opening the door and shutting it behind her silently, understanding that Cora wasn’t supposed to know. 

“What the fuck is this Vic?” he whispered angrily.

“Your friend Stiles, he had a dream --”

“What? How --” He stopped immediately as Vic pointed a finger at him, and clenched her jaw. He was being too loud. 

“He’s legit, I’ll explain later, but for now lets revel in the joy of your visit, and the miracle of -- yet again -- avoiding an untimely demise.” She whispered back. “Oh, and you’re sleeping in the loft, I converted the corner bedroom into a tactical planning space, in case you hadn’t noticed.” 

She held her hands up and looked around, like he was supposed to be impressed. She was such a nerd sometimes. He crossed his arms and stared at the floor for a moment, just to get all of it out of his head. He made promises to himself, promises that took precedence over family vacations. 

“We don’t need to be quiet for Cora, I’m telling her everything,” he said.

“You know how I feel about it, me and Laura fought about it more than once because I thought you should know things she didn’t want to worry you with.” Vic agreed with him, but she wasn’t. 

“I already told her about Kate,” he confessed, not quite sure how much Vic knew about it either. 

“That must have been hard,” Vic crossed her arms, waiting to know how it had gone. Of course she knew, she knew more about the Argents than he had ever been brave enough to ask. 

“It wasn’t easy, but she saw things happen from a different perspective. She knew things I didn’t,” he said. 

“ It never did the Hale Family any good, keeping secrets,” Vic shook her head softly. “I’m proud of you for doing it different.” she said. 

He nodded as she reached out for his shoulder, comforting him. She handed him his bag and they went back to the living room together. He tossed his bag up into the loft, it landed with a thud on the hidden mattress above them. 

“What was that?” Cora asked. 

“My old room.” He answered dryly. 

“You had a bed in the back! You chose to perch up there like a big giant gargoyle. You were mad because I wouldn’t let you bring your Harley into the house,” Vic knew far too many humiliating stories about him, but he was man enough to play along. 

“It was clean. There was no reason why it wasn’t allowed inside, except rules you decided were ‘The Basic Rules of Civility’. But there’s at least forty weapons in that gun closet, that is hardly civil.” He smiled, Cora, didn’t know he owned a motorcycle. 

“How long did you live here, and why would you care about a motorcycle so much?” Cora asked. 

“It was off and on for a few months, before they went to Brooklyn. That motorcycle used to be the center of his universe, a lot has changed obviously.” Vic laughed. She went to a glass cabinet full of photos and albums and took out a small album Laura bought on a trip to the coast.  
“You both had motorcycles, did Laura have one too?” Cora traced the picture of Laura’s face. Laura was happy, smiling, as she leaned up against Vic. They were all leaning against the motorcycles in front of a small kitschy white diner with lace curtains in the windows. There was an out of commission gas pump from the 60’s next to them. 

“Just the back seat of mine,” Vic answered, flipping the page for Cora. 

The next picture was of him in front of the stupid gas pump, because Laura begged him to take one picture where he was smiling, for real. 

“You look so young Derek,” she laughed and held it out to him to see. 

“You used to be skinny. I can’t tell if you’ve gotten taller, or just wider since then, but you're starting to look like a Sasquatch so you might want to dial it back, eh?” Vic teased him, scratching her chin and mocking his beard. 

“I wanted to blend in when I got here,” He responded dryly. 

Both Cora and Vic laughed, which made him laugh too. 

“C’mon, lets grab a beer and go sit on the deck before the sun disappears.” Vic suggested.

They talked, and shared war stories until the sun was long gone and a chill started to set in. Derek filled the large firewood bin on the porch. Everything was as he remembered it. Vic had done some beautification, like building welded rebar trellis for what looked like Clematis lining one side of the driveway. She had also set up a huge slab of granite on the east side of the house over looking the long flowing fields below. 

The slab held as he walked out on it, perching himself on the very edge. He loved this place, it was reliable, and predictable. He didn't know how Vic had done it, how she was still happy, still moving forward. She missed Laura, it was hard for her when Laura decided not to stay. Then again, when she decided not to come back. He thought it was the end of them when Laura chose to take them across the country, but Vic was always there, always adapting no matter how terrible she felt. He couldn’t imagine where to start building a life like that. This life, this purpose and consistency, this is what he wanted more than anything. 

The night was going to be clear, which meant it was going to be cold. He headed back to the house to build up the fire. At dinner they discussed Stiles and his phone call, but not much. He had more questions than Vic had answers, but she wasn't telling him everything she knew. They sat around long after dinner was finished, talking about much more mundane things. Eventually Cora went to shower and get ready for bed, leaving them alone for a while. 

“What’s between you and this Stiles kid?” Vic asked, mild disapproval crossing her face. She was trying to stay neutral, though the effort was obvious. 

“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully, leaving out all the ambiguity he couldn't explain to himself, let alone another person. 

“It’s pretty fucking weird I’m guessing?” Vic asked, obviously knowing a lot more than he did. 

“Can you do that thing where you cut through all the bullshit and lay it all out before I have time to think about anything?” he asked, hoping. 

“We got all night brother, this isn’t about survival, it’s about love,” she answered. 

“Is it?” he asked, feeling even more anxious and uncomfortable. 

That was his confirmation. Vic didn’t throw around words like love. 

“It was that woman, Jennifer, or Julia, whatever she was called. She fucked shit up for you guys pretty good trying to game the system,” Vic said. 

“What do you mean?” he asked. 

“Her goal was to lay down all that damage, and walk away clean. The universe has rules, vague ones, but you know all about that. She wanted her actions to be validated by the powers that be, irrevocable,” Vic said, only half explaining, making him ask questions. 

“How does Stiles fit in?” he asked. 

“She stole his life,” Vic answered plainly, letting him think about it before she gave him anything else. 

The pieces fell into place easily. The evidence had been piling up, he had no explanation. 

“There was a moment when things changed, when I started questioning things. I found my Beta, Erica, dead. Losing one of your pack members is always devastating, it rips you to pieces inside, but I mourned her. I missed her like she was my friend, and my sister, but I barely knew her.” He never had a way to explain how he felt, or why he felt like he was living someone else's life after that. 

“What Julia did transferred all of the significant moments in Stiles life, to hers. I think, when the switch was made, it drastically changed the past closest to the event. Further back is relatively the same, mostly because you guys are all pretty young. There wasn’t a lot of timeline to fuck with,” Vic had given it a lot of thought, and probably done a lot of research. 

“Stiles, he -- “ Derek didn’t know what to say, or if he could do something to fix it. “Did he get it back when she died?” 

“His purpose, destiny -- god I fucking hate that word -- The shit ass job the universe throws at you, yes, that belongs to him again. The life he had before is gone, though he remembers it,” Vic explained. “Sounds like maybe you are starting to remember it too, which makes sense.” 

“How?” he asked, feeling like this was an endless shit storm that kept getting worse and worse. 

“You are dumb like rocks aren’t you? You know, this is like passing notes during class in junior high. My friend likes you, do you like him back?” Vic stared at him for a moment, exasperated by which parts of the story he was paying attention to. “You guys are tied together, thats why she got custody of you in the divorce.” 

He wanted to explain to Vic how her analogy was completely wrong, but the impulse came from his desire to continue ignoring the problem for as long as possible. 

“I don’t remember anything. It’s only a feeling, like it didn't happen right, but I don’t feel like that anymore,” he said. 

“I don't know what’s going to happen to you, but I know it’s supposed to be you and him.” Vic said. 

“You aren’t happy about that, why?” he asked, if she was, she would be smiling. 

“He’s young, too young, but if I had met your sister back then, I would have taken every minute I could with her, so I don’t blame you. Also, I don't want you to end up on the wrong end of the Sheriff’s rifle.” 

“I haven’t done anything,” he said. 

“I told him I would talk to you about the pack up at Hood, that I wouldn't mention him, but that was just to ease him till I could feel this out for myself." Vic said, changing the subject pointedly. "You don't have any plans to head up north, so this is probably a chicken or the egg scenario. I think it’s a warning certainly, but also a clue. Is there any reason you can think of for pissing off the Government Camp Pack?” 

“My great grandpa lived around there for a while before he moved to Beacon Hills.” He couldn’t think of any reason why they go there. 

“Do you remember where he lived, did he own it?” Vic asked, probably thinking about public records. 

“It was right next to a place called Hidden Lake. Our great grandpa used to talk about taking us up there someday, but we never went. I doubt the local pack was friendly.” he said. 

“Probably not,” Vic said absently as she did something on her phone. 

She lifted it to her ear and looked up at him, holding her finger out like he should wait for her. He got out his phone, ready to take notes if he needed to. 

“Hey Stiles, yeah... he’s fine... Cora’s fine. I think your whole prediction was a sort of chicken or the egg thing. We figured some stuff out, we’re still working on it... Yeah, he wants to talk to you.” Vic held the phone out to Derek. 

He stared at her, contemplating a quick or slow death for just a moment, then took the phone from her hand. She left the table and disappeared down the hallway, watching him until the very last moment. 

Nothing could have prepared him for this, his arms were tense and his hands were shaking. He had to answer. He could hear Stiles breathing on the other end. 

“Hello?” he said, trying not to sound too anxious.

“Hey! I’m glad you guys got there safe, how’s your visit so far?” Stiles asked. 

“It’s good, Cora and Vic like each other. That makes me happy.” He cringed, he sounded like an idiot. “I wanted to say thank you, for calling before.” 

“Oh, yeah, so Vic told you about that?” Stiles wasn’t happy about it. 

“Yeah, Vic kinda does what she wants, but I’m glad you called,” he said, more quiet than he intended. 

“It’s cool, It’s good to hear from you.” Stiles voice was softer, more relaxed. It sounded like he was rolling over in his blankets. He was probably sleeping when Vic called, it was late.

“If you’re tired, I can -- “ he stopped talking. This was all wrong. His hands didn’t shake when he was nervous, he didn’t worry about things like this. Too many emotions flooded into his chest all at once. He couldn’t talk, or even open his mouth, without telling Stiles he was sorry, that he loved him. 

“I’ve missed you...” Stiles said quietly. 

“I’m sorry, I’ve missed you too, but I don’t remember. I don’t remember any of it,” Derek held his eyes, trying to keep his frustration and anger from leaking out.

“It’ll be okay Derek, we’ll figure this out,” Stiles spoke to him softly, making what sounded like a promise. 

“Will you tell me what -- “ His throat tightened, he couldn’t speak, not when he was like this. 

“I’ll tell you everything, I promise. We’ll be okay.” Stiles promised out loud this time. Somehow the words made his throat relax, and his chest feel better. 

“Will you come here? Can you?” 

“I will, yeah, if you want me to,” Stiles answered. 

“I want you to come now, but I’ll settle for tomorrow,” he said. 

Stiles laughed, the sound made him smile. 

“I’m pretty sure I can do that,” Stiles said, Derek could hear the smile in his voice. 

“I’m going to go talk to Vic about it, I’ll let you know soon what the plan is,” he said. 

“Okay, I’ll talk to you soon,” Stiles said, still smiling. 

“Okay, bye.”

A thousand pounds had been lifted off his chest. He could breathe again, he owned himself entirely, and he was headed in the right direction. The absolute certainty felt like freedom. He knocked on Vic’s door, she called to him, and he walked in smiling. She took one look at him and broke out laughing. Then got up and gave him a hug. 

“I’m glad it went that well. I’ll tell you, I thought for sure you were gonna choke and come in here pissed,” she laughed again, admitting how little faith she had in him. She wasn’t wrong.

“I asked him to come visit, tomorrow,” he said, unsure if Vic would approve. 

Her face fell. She looked like she wanted to say a few things, but she nodded instead. “Okay, he should come.” 

“Are you sure?” he asked. 

“You guys have a lot to figure out, It’s probably best if it doesn’t happen in that shit hole town,” Vic was concerned, for both of them, that was obvious. 

He was sure if Stiles came here, she would see there wasn’t anything to be concerned about. 

“Thank you,” he said, smiling like an idiot again. 

“Kid, you keep smiling like that, your face will get stuck that way,” Vic laughed, patting him on the cheek a little too hard. “C’mon, lets see if Cora wants to go up to Patrick’s place, he can get us some plane tickets, even if they don't know the plane is flying here yet.” 

“I’m going to see if Cora’s awake,” he said, heading toward her door. 

Before he got to it, she walked out, holding Laura’s old winter jacket in her hand. “I found this in the closet, was it Laura’s?” Cora asked. 

“Yeah, I put all her things in there for you,” Vic said. 

“Thank you,” Cora said smiling. “So, who is Patrick?” Proving she had been listening in.. 

“He works for us, actually, I’ll call him and make sure he’s decent. You guys get ready,” Vic said, taking her phone out of his hand. 

A few minutes later they were jumping the fence, instead of taking the road to the cabin above Vic’s house. It was on her property, but had been vacant for years. When he had been here before, it was unlivable. The previous tenants had destroyed the place with drugs and pets. The cabin looked better now. It was freshly painted, and had a new sliding glass door. As they got closer the scent of weed got remarkably stronger. 

“Is he growing out here?” Derek asked Vic, wondering if they were about to walk past a few acres of pot. 

“I don’t think so, I never asked,” she shrugged. 

It didn’t seem like her to not know. Besides making it her business to know, Vic liked marijuana a lot, and her security. She either trusted Patrick quite a bit, or he had surveillance outside of his cabin Vic didn’t want to talk into. 

The back sliding door wasn't locked, Vic pushed it open and walked inside, calling Patricks name. A young man came walking down the short hallway of the cabin. He was young, as young as Cora. He had dark brown hair, big blue eyes, but no other remarkable features. Vic introduced him to Cora first, he noticed Patrick was only a couple inches taller than her. His arms were covered in tattoos a lot like Vic’s. Patrick smiled a lot as Derek shook his hand. 

“Boarding pass and ticket for Stilinski, leaves at 8am from RDD so you’re getting up early to pick his ass up,” Patrick said, handing Derek a sheet of paper. “I sent one to Stiles -- is that what you call him?” 

“Yeah,” Vic said, sitting down on Patrick’s overstuffed blue couch. 

“I sent one to Stiles from your email,” Patrick finished. 

“My email?” he asked, already confused whether to hate this kid, or love him. 

“Yeah, you should stop using that hotmail, Shelley set you up an email on our servers, right?” Patrick asked. 

“Yes, I just didn't use it because I assumed you could see everything I send,” Derek said, realizing his rationale was flawed, if everyone could see his other account. 

Patrick looked apologetic, but dropped it. He motioned Derek to sit and asked if they wanted anything. Derek pocketed the printed sheet and sent a text to Stiles, he got an immediate affirmative response. He wanted to say more, wish him goodnight, or something thoughtful. He wasn’t sure how things worked between them yet, so he sent a text saying he couldn’t wait till tomorrow. If Stiles felt anything like he did right now, he would like that text. All Stiles sent back was ‘me either’ in all capitals.

The stupid grin on his face disappeared when Patrick came back out of the back room with printed maps and pulled over a card table. 

“This Hidden Lake place had a lot of hits on the not-so-normal-occurrence map. There are far too many unexplained deaths, most of them violent or the people simply disappeared. On this map I’ve marked off some of the places that have been investigated by the police, and the corresponding folder, and on this map is an overlay of everything found during mineral surveys of the area. See, right here next to the lake is a foundation for an old stone house. This has weird shit written all over it.” Patrick finished his onslaught of information. 

“I just gave Vic the name of this place less than an hour ago,” Derek said, not believing Patrick could have gotten all this in such a short time. 

“Getting your friends ticket took me longer than getting this information. I don't search for each individual thing, I built a program that does that for me, then compiles the information the way I instruct it to. Most of this stuff is in public record, or easy to find with a google search,” Patrick explained. 

“We dismantle evil shit, he dismantles information,” Vic succinctly pointed out that this was Patrick’s area of expertise. 

“I’m a good shot,” Patrick said quietly. 

“Yes you are good at guns too, but decorating? What is this color of blue? Parakeet? Grandma’s eyeshadow?” Vic looked around making an unhappy face. 

“I like it,” Derek said, not necessarily meaning to come to Patrick’s defense. 

“Proof,” Vic said, looking over at Cora for solidarity. 

Derek pointed at the map he was holding, making an attempt to terrorize Vic into paying attention to Patrick’s information. 

“I think your family did own this property, the scanned copies are still being processed right now because it’s all encrypted, but it all points to a photographer named Hale that lived in Portland.” Patrick said. 

“Like that old boat picture we had in the hallway?” Cora asked. 

“Probably, I’ll know more tomorrow,” Patrick said. 

“What do you think is up there?” Derek asked. 

“Something that’s killing people,” Patrick shrugged. 

“And we’re supposed to run up there and figure it out?” he asked, looking at Vic. 

“I think we’re supposed to go stop it, that’s usually how these things work,” she said. 

“Is this what you do now?” he asked, wondering if her life had changed so much in the past few years when they weren't around. 

“No, only when someone named Hale usually, decides to be a big pain in my ass,” Vic smiled. 

“Point taken,” Derek said, putting the maps back down on the table. “Thank you for doing all this Patrick.” 

“Yeah, it’s my job,” he smiled. “I heard a lot about you guys, and saw the pictures up in Vic’s place. It’s good to see you back again, Vic doesn’t have a lot of visitors.” 

“This is Cora, not Laura, younger sister, also not my girlfriend,” Vic clarified. 

“Oh, where’s Laura?” Patrick asked. 

“Dead,” Vic said, staring at Patrick like he had done something very bad. 

“Oh, I didn’t know, you look so much like her,” Patrick said to Cora, losing ground as Vic looked more and more unhappy. 

“It’s okay, I think we’re going to go Vic, thanks again Patrick,” Derek said, motioning to Vic to get up and go. 

Vic got up and walked out the sliding door ahead of him, he looked back at Cora and she waved at him, telling him to follow Vic. He ducked out the door and met Vic as she walked quickly across the dark field. 

“What was that?” Derek asked, keeping pace with her. 

“I forgot to tell him, I’m sorry,” Vic answered, not slowing down, or looking at him. 

“Vic? It looked a lot worse than that to me,” Derek said. 

“I told him that Derek Hale and his sister were coming to visit, that’s all. He knows what he needs to. He didn’t need to know that,” Vic said. 

“Then why did you get mad at him?” Derek asked. 

“Because I don't like to be reminded okay?” Vic said, finally slowing down. 

“That’s going to be kinda hard with her doppelganger running around your house,” Derek said, confused as to how none of this had come up at all, why she hadn’t talked to him about any of it. 

“I know Cora isn’t -- she’s not Laura’s doppelganger, Laura sounded different, smelled different, she walked differently. She might look the same, and say some of the same shit, but she’s not Laura. No one could ever be Laura,” Vic said, stopping in front of the fence. 

“I know,” Derek said. “But if Laura lives anywhere, it’s here.” 

Here everything reminded him of Laura. 

“Not that fucking shrine of an apartment in Brooklyn?” she asked, pulling herself up on the crossbeam of the fence. “Why is that still there?” 

“I never went back,” he said. 

“I did, don’t do it. Make Cora take it apart, but for fuck sake, don’t leave it there forever.” Vic swung her legs over and jumped down off the fence. She took off across the field, headed for the house. 

He didn’t expect everything to be easy here, but Vic wasn’t saying a lot. Thinking about Laura was hard, but the idea of Vic mourning her was harder.He waited for Cora for a long time, but he didn’t want to go back to the house alone. He didn’t want to fight with Vic. Cora came out of the cabin with Patrick, who walked her to the fence line as they talked. Patrick saw him and waved, then said goodbye to Cora.

“Is Vic okay?” she asked. 

“No, but she’s no worse off than any of us,” Derek said as Cora looked behind her, waiting to see if Patrick was looking before she leapt on to the crossbar of the fence. She paced it for a moment then jumped down to the other side. 

“You didn’t tell her when Laura died, did you?” Cora asked. 

“No, I didn’t. I wasn’t sure what she would have done. I couldn't afford for her to show up and -- “ 

“What? Stop you from turning a bunch of teenagers into werewolves and fucking your life up?” Cora asked in the brutal way he had come to appreciate. 

“Yeah.” 

“Well, I think you might have to face that one down pretty soon, dear brother,” Cora said. 

He nodded, and followed Cora over the fence back to Vic’s house. 

He woke up the next morning to the sound of a peacock screeching in the distance. They were a very unfortunate favorite of the Baby Boomer, California transplants that were invading the area with big ideas about micro farms and artisan wineries. The obnoxious bird let another long screech, followed by another one in a different location. Scratch that, two peacocks, probably a pair. That was just perfect. 

The pine ledge squeaked as he swung down from the loft. The facing had broken a little on the bottom, loosening a screw. It was probably his fault for always using the ledge to drop down and climb up instead of the ladder. He checked his phone. Stiles had left a message saying he was boarding, if he got ready now he would be early, but he was awake and waiting anywhere was going to be torture, it might as well be at the airport. 

The long winding county highways gave him time to think about what he was going to say to Stiles, and what Stiles might tell him about that other life. It wasn't the first time he had heard of history being rewritten. His own family history was littered with stories that sounded like fairy tales, all of which were, probably, mostly true. 

Relying on his own memories was impossible, but at the same time, both sets of events happened. He wanted Stiles to tell him the truth, the important parts, so it could make more sense. It was too difficult to decide how to feel when he wasn’t sure if his choices were actually his own. 

The Eugene airport was ridiculously small. He waited in his car for text updates on his flight. He had waited for a lot of things in his life. Fights, death, information, sanity, reprieve, but this waiting was by far the worst. There was no way to prepare for it. Listening to his own tapping on the steering wheel was infinitely worse than listening to anyone else do it. His stomach clenched, unhappy about not being fed, and being subjected to lengthy stretches of nervousness. 

When he couldn’t stand himself anymore he got out of the car and went in. The walk through the small commercial airport was short. He waited near the end of the arrival hallway. A text hadn’t come through on his phone yet, but the monitor said the flight had arrived. Blinding white light came pouring through the doors at the other end of the hallway. Tall, thin figures made their way toward him. It was Stiles and an older man, laughing and talking like old friends. Derek smiled when Stiles waved at him, but he waited until Stiles said goodbye to the other man before meeting him. 

"Okay, Frank, awesome. It was really great to meet you!" Stiles waved at Frank, who walked on with a smile and a nod for Derek. 

Dropping his bag, Stiles closed his arms around Derek without hesitation. Stiles held him tight, his face pressed into Derek’s shoulder. In all the scenarios he played out in his head, this wasn’t one of them. He thought there would be talking, or questions, but his arms fit perfectly around Stiles’ shoulders. It didn’t feel strange to turn his head and rest his lips on Stiles’ cheek. 

Stiles pulled back, making just enough space between them so they were face to face. He couldn’t remember, but he was certain this was not the first time he had seen Stiles this close. Every freckle and mole dotted across his face was as familiar as the warm brown of his eyes. His lips were soft and needful, with thin rough spots near the inside. His hand moved on it’s own, threading through the short hair on the back of Stiles hair as they kissed.

Announcements called out and people from Stiles flight passed them as they stood together, locked in a silent embrace. Stiles’ cheeks were red, but he was smiling and happy. He laughed quietly as Stiles’ looked around them, suddenly shy with people still trickling by. He kissed Stiles on the cheek, near his ear, lingering for a moment as he convinced himself to let Stiles go. 

He picked up Stiles’ bag off the floor, turning to lead them out when Stiles caught his hand, stopping him. He looked back and Stiles reached up, wiping his cheek quickly. Wetness came away, making his cheek cold for a moment. He couldn’t recall tears, but there wasn’t a lot of sense to be made out of most the things he was feeling right now. He held Stiles’ hand tight as they made their way through the airport and out to his car. 

On the road Stiles watched the scenery go by, his forehead against the window. They hadn’t said hello to each other, or spoken a word since he got off the plane, it should feel strange, because it was in a way, but more than that, it was proof. They cared more about each other than an explanation. He thought he would be asking a hundred questions right now, but he couldn’t think of one he needed and answer to, except was Stiles hungry. 

Stiles reached out for him and he offered his hand, threading their fingers together. 

“Is it as magical and relaxing as I’ve made it out to be in my head?” Stiles asked, obviously referring to Vic’s house. 

“It’s not Beacon Hills,” Derek said. “It’s quiet, there are more neighbors than there used to be, but the forest is so heavy you can’t see them. It’s all trees, river, and dirt.” 

“Sounds like heaven,” Stiles smiled over at him. 

He let his head fall back and he closed his eyes. Derek glanced over at him, but he didn’t need to see Stiles to know he was asleep. He thought about waking his as they came up on the river, but he couldn’t do it. He was sleeping too soundly, Stiles was exhausted. He came to as they started up the steep driveway, he let go of Stiles hand to put the SUV in gear to make it up with hill on the wet gravel. 

No one was there to greet them as he expected. There was only a note on the door. 

‘Vic and Cora, gone to Patrick’s, be back later.” 

He used his key to unlock the door, happy it still worked. They went inside and pointed Stiles to the bathroom, the kitchen, told him the house was his, to make himself at home. 

“I’m starving, and I’m ridiculously jet lagged for such a short flight. Can we stuff ourselves and then I’ll just take a nap or something?” Stiles asked. 

“Yeah, come on, Vic keeps a well stocked fridge.” Derek said. 

“She seems like the type,” Stiles said, smiling like he knew Vic. 

They grazed on just about everything they found because Stiles couldn’t make up his mind. They cleaned out half of her fruits and vegetables because Stiles said he wanted something crunchy, then said yes to everything he listed off. He set up a roast in the slow cooker as Stiles finished off a sandwich. He was eating slow, probably because he was about to burst, then he asked for a beer. Derek popped the top off a dark beer and poured half of it into the roast, then handed Stiles the bottle. 

“I can drink, are you kidding me with this?” Stiles laughed, then took a swig. 

“I’m afraid for your stomach, carbonation,” Derek said, not caring if Stiles drank here. 

“Yeah, I’m feelin’ it. Half this is beer is probably enough to kick off a food coma. Where am I sleeping?” Stiles asked. 

“Up there, with me, or on the couch,” he said, hoping he didn’t show any preference for either. 

“Ugh, that is a steep climb, where are the bedrooms in this place?” Stiles asked. 

“I used to have a room, but it’s all photos, notes, and strings now, so Vic can stare at stuff and fixate till she loses her mind,” Derek said. 

“I have no idea what that’s like at all,” Stiles said finishing off the beer. “I’ll be right back.”

Derek cleaned up the kitchen, then took out the garbage and compost. The neighbors goats were at the gate near the barn, so he walked the compost up to them and scattered it over the fence. The little ones darted around the smaller ones, bleating loudly as they discovered the treats. They smelled awful, but they were sort of cute when they were small. 

The house was quiet, Stiles wasn’t around when he came back in and washed his hands. The faint sound of Stiles breathing came from the loft. He quietly set out new paper bags for the compost and burn piles then stood in the kitchen, wondering if he should do anything else, or find somewhere else to go to let Stiles sleep. 

“Are you coming?” Stiles asked, he sounded exhausted and mildly annoyed. 

This time he used the ladder like he was supposed to. Stiles was up against the wall on one side of the mattress as he climbed in, pulling the heavy blanket all the way up to Stiles shoulder. He made himself comfortable on his back, then Stiles scooted over to him, using his chest as a pillow. 

A moment later he was asleep. So soundly, he didn’t flinch when the peacock next door screeched again. 

***

 

Faraway laughter made him open his eyes, Stiles had been awake for at least a few minutes. Being incredibly lazy, laying on Derek Hale’s chest, in a weird loft that looked a lot like a little kids bedroom, in the middle of nowhere, Oregon, was the best thing he could imagine doing. He had no reason to move, or open his eyes. Until he heard that laughter. It had to be Vic, it was familiar, and he had never seen Cora laugh. 

Stiles lifted his head, wondering if he could extract himself without waking Derek, but Derek’s eyes were open. 

“Hi,” he said, his eyes not quite agreeing to focus yet. 

“You feeling okay? You sound raspy,” Derek asked.

“No, I’m fine, I haven’t been sleeping very well lately,” Stiles said. 

“Those dreams?” 

“Vic told me humans aren’t built to handle shit like that, so it kicks us on our fucking asses for a while,” he grinned. 

“Those were her exact words?” Derek looked at him skeptically. 

“No, she said fuck at least one more time,” Stiles laughed. 

Derek’s chest shook under him as scrunched his eyes shut and laughed quietly. 

“Let’s go out there, I want to meet her,” Stiles said. 

“She’s drunk, they were drinking at Patrick’s then they came down here when Patrick ran out of beer.”

“Even better.” 

Getting down from the loft was trickier than getting up. Derek assured him the ladder was so heavy, it wasn’t going anywhere. They made their way down the hall, to the large room in the back that connected to all the bedrooms. It was probably supposed to be a T.V. room, or a study, but all Vic had in it was a couch, her washer and dryer, and stacks of blue workout mats. 

“Hey, Stiles,” Cora called out to him.  
She was sitting on the arm of the couch next to Vic. Cora got up and gave him a hug, then introduced him to Vic and Patrick. 

“This kid, oh, my god,” Vic laughed, doing a fairly good impression of him. “Look at you! You are so adorable. I didn't think he was going to be this adorable.” Vic patted Stiles on the cheeks and laughed. 

“Hey Stiles, I’m Patrick,” Patrick held his hand out, interrupting Vic’s observation of his face. He shook Patrick’s hand graciously as Derek engaged Vic. “I’ve heard a lot about you, all good. We’ve been sharing some war stories. Cora told us you pulled her ass out of the fire more than once.” 

“Sort of, if by pulled her ass out of the fire, you mean sat next to her and watched her not die, then yes.”

“And got me breathing again, which I am incredibly grateful for,” Cora raised her eyebrow, almost like Derek, but much nicer. 

“I wasn’t sure if you knew about that,” he said. 

“You weren’t planning on telling me I stopped breathing? People like to know when they’ve almost died.” Cora said, scrunching her forehead on top of the raised eyebrow. 

“In my experience that is completely, not true. Most people prefer to be lied to, very well,” he said, pointing out a universal truth, that what people don’t know, can’t hurt them. 

“He’s right,” Vic said, sitting back down on the couch. 

Derek sat next to her, his shoulder up against hers. It surprised him, Derek was very much a creature of personal space, unless it was him. He had always been the exception, even when they weren’t together. 

“You guys use this space for training or something?” he asked. 

“If by training you mean beating the shit out of each other to let off steam, yes,” Vic laughed. “I have a beer, what happened to that?” 

Derek reached over her to the window sill behind the couch and handed her the beer that was sitting there. He wasn’t sure that was a fantastic idea, but Derek didn’t seem worried. 

“Shit used to get pretty crazy when Hal came out to fight. I only saw blood once, but I have no idea how. Those two look like they’re trying to kill each other,” Patrick laughed, then gave Vic a fist bump. 

“I fucking hate that asshole,” Vic said laughing. 

“That roast is smelling good, what’s the ETA on that brother?” Patrick asked Derek. 

“I should be done,” Derek said. 

“Let’s go eat then, you guys slept all day.” Vic got up and started walking down the hall, her voice becoming faint the further she got away. Cora and Patrick followed her. “You’d think after all the bullshit you’d have a few questions for each other but, no. We get here and you’re both knocked the fuck out. We would have thought you were dead if Cora hadn’t gone up and checked on you, just to make us feel better.” 

“There is something wrong with her,” Stiles said. 

“There are a lot of things wrong with her,” Derek scowled, but didn’t take him seriously. 

“No, I mean -- does she usually drink?” he asked. 

“She prefers weed, but she usually has a beer at dinner,” Derek said. “At least she used to, it’s been a while. I’m not sure.” 

“I know what avoiding-a-problem drunk looks like,” he said. 

“She laid into me last night about Laura. This is the first time I’ve seen her since then,” Derek said. “I’ll talk to her when she’s sober.” 

After dinner Vic was just as intoxicated, but not interested in talking much. She sat between Patrick and Cora as they talked, occasionally answering questions and nodding when someone said her name. 

“What is that noise?” Cora asked. 

“A herd of Elk. They pass through here sometimes,” Derek answered. 

Patrick stood up to see, but there was nothing outside. He listened closely then looked over at Stiles. He knew that look. It was the look people got when they were sure something wasn't right, and they assumed he had answers. 

“She’s a werewolf,” Vic said as Patrick loomed over her. 

Patrick sat back down, the entire game of reactions playing across his face. He went from worried there was something wrong with Vic, to looking at the coffee table thoughtfully as he considered the possibilities. Patrick looked back up at him first, of course. He nodded, putting the poor guy out of his misery. 

“How does that work then?” Patrick asked Cora. 

Cora smiled and cocked her head, probably unsure of what to say, and more that a little uncomfortable being the mascot in a room full of people. 

“Let’s go watch them go by, we might be able to see them before the fog rolls in.” Vic got up from the couch and reached across Derek for her blue afghan. 

Derek followed her, but Stiles went to the refrigerator and moved most of the beer to the very back, behind things. He hoped it might help, he wasn't sure how smart Vic was when she was wasted. Cora and Patrick stayed at the table as he searched for his hoodie and went out on the deck. 

Slick condensation covered the deck, it would freeze tonight, if the sky was clear. Thick banks of fog were gathering above them, and on the mountain across from them. They snaked slowly through the trees as they settled in the valley. Stiles sat next to Vic on the long bench that wrapped around the edge of the deck. Derek was in a cast iron deck chair that was made of wicker and scrolling designs. He sat back in it, with his feet up on the table, watching the far end of the pasture below them. 

A moment later he heard the clatter of horns and hooves, moving slowly over the rocks and trees. Patrick and Cora joined them just as they caught sight of the first one. A giant creature with no antlers, and long, spindly legs cautiously came out of the treeline. As soon as she was visible, dozens more elk poured into the pasture. They stopped to graze, but mostly they moved along a path only they seemed to know. The males were scattered amongst the herd, their massive necks undulating under the weight of heavy antlers. 

The herd went through the open gate at the very end of Vic’s property and crossed the road, taking over a long stretch of low grassland down by the river. The fog rolled in and obscured their view, but long, trumpet like calls echoing through the valley assured they were still there. 

“You know, they shed their antlers every winter. Thats where all the door handles came from,” Vic said, her eyes fixed on Derek.

“I know, you told me before,” Derek said. “You remember that great big pair we found up on the mountain, when we were hunting?” 

“I still have those, they’re above the garage, in the small antiquities room,” Vic smiled. 

A smile spread over Derek’s face as Vic talked, she reminded Derek of other smaller things she had collected, with the intention of doing something with it, someday. The house was filled with strange pieces of driftwood art and found objects, like antler door handles. 

First Cora and Patrick disappeared, then Derek left to fix a loose board in the loft. He and Vic were both leaning over the edge of the deck, watching the fog and darkness devour everything around them. 

“I’m glad you came,” Vic said. 

“I am too,” Stiles said. 

“Can you go help Derek?” she asked, not explaining why, or what he might need. 

“Yeah, is there something I should tell him?” Stiles asked. 

“No, just make sure he doesn’t hurt himself,” Vic said, her head fell to the side slightly and she took a long, staggered breath. 

Last attempts at consciousness were something else he recognized easily as well. He went inside and asked Cora to help her to bed, then headed out the front door to find Derek in the barn. 

***

One last screw put in place and he turned on the space heater, it flared to life, heat radiating against his chest and face. A leak in the roof had let just enough moisture in to corrode some of the connections. The trail of moisture led to a small crack in the corrugated tin roof, that he could fix later. He headed upstairs, through the pull down hatch that led to a small room above the garage. It used to be a bunk room for a seasonal farm hands, but now all it did was house treasures Vic didn't want to lose track of in the vastness of the the barn. 

Derek explored a moment, then went out into the main part of the barn, where Vic kept all the wood and building supplies. Short stacks of drywall and plywood leaned against the outer walls, but the long boards were in the rafters overhead. Stiles found his way in and waited below until he found what he was looking for and handed it down. 

Back in the garage Stiles found a pry bar and went to take down the old face board. By the time Stiles came back Derek had sanded down the surface to a soft, unfinished matte, to match the rest. Stiles helped as he cut the board down and sanded the ends. Inside Patrick was the only audience as they put the new board up, he watched silently, nodding in approval when they were done. 

“I have to admit, that was pretty impressive,” Patrick said, the pink flush on his cheeks and his slow words were a sign he had a few too many today as well. 

“Not exactly a feat of carpentry, but it looks okay. It’ll be better once I sand down the putty tomorrow,” he said. 

“No, I mean you two. There was no yelling, pissiness, or even a scowl.”Patrick laughed. “I can’t imagine getting along with someone like that.” 

“We don't usually,” Derek looked over at Stiles for confirmation that this was, in fact, a new thing. 

“We’ve been working together for a long time,” Stiles said, glossing over all the time they worked against each other. 

“One time, my dad asked me and my brother to fix a gate. All we had to do was replace the top hinge. Should have taken us half an hour, maybe. 2 hours later he’s called me an asshole, I’ve called him a dick, and tried to punch him. I missed and ended up with a splinter in my hand the size of a skewer. Of course, who’d I ask to pull the splinter out? My brother.” Patrick laughed. 

“I’m sure we still have plenty of colorful, antagonistic words to say to each other,” Derek said. 

Stiles gave him a promising half grin, that made him wish Patrick would go home. He suffered through another hour of Patrick’s half drunk banter. Stiles seemed to be enjoying himself, but he wasn’t sure about Patrick yet. The ease at which he accepted the werewolf issue scored him points, but he was uncertain if Patrick was interested in his sister, like she was interested in him. He couldn’t read Patrick well, that usually meant a person was very good at lying, or had no clue what they were doing. 

Silence fell over the house, outside was nothing but thick fog. Vic and Cora were both sleeping nearby, but it felt isolated, protected somehow. He turned most of the lights off in the house and built the fire up until it was blazing loudly. The heavy cracking and popping of the wood against the inside of the black iron stove was like a soundtrack for the swirling, grey expanse outside.

Warmth radiated slowly toward the couch where he sat down next to Stiles. 

 

“Did you know it was going to be like this?” he asked. 

“You mean the quiet thing we seem to be doing? No, I don’t know what that is,” Stiles said, shifting his body so he was facing Derek. 

“I meant, all of it, but the quiet thing is strange. I doesn’t feel strange, but it’s not normal.” The only people Derek interacted with that way, were pack members, but there was still some kind of communication. There was nothing but silence between them, but he still acted and reacted like he knew something that hadn’t been said out loud. Stiles was acting the same way. 

“We used to be connected, the way you're thinking,” Stiles said. 

“Can you still feel it?” he asked, worried it was like the memories, that he would only ever have a faint echo of what it was supposed to be. 

“No, I just know that’s what you’re thinking about. Mostly because I know how you think.” Stiles said. 

It made sense, if their brains still worked the same, he just didn't have the information that was supposed to go there. 

“This feels unfair,” Derek said. “It’s hard for me to say that because I don’t do ‘fair’ and ‘unfair’ there is reality, and then theres the shit you wished you had. This is the same thing, but...” 

“You have just enough hope left to feel really fucking bitter about the whole thing,” Stiles said, putting words to his thoughts perfectly. “You can ask, or I can tell you things, if you’re ready.” 

“I don’t know,” Derek rubbed his hand across his forehead, wishing he could do something to wipe his brain clean of everything Jennifer ever did to him. 

“Come here,” Stiles reached out for his shoulder and pulled on his shirt. 

Without letting himself give it too much thought he leaned into Stiles as he situated himself, laying on the couch. Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles chest and rested his head against Stiles shoulder. 

“Sorry, my hands are cold,” Stiles said said quietly and let out a long sigh. “I kept going, now I’m here. I just keep expecting something awful to show up and take it all away again.” 

“You can’t relax, you feel like everyday has a higher possibility of being your last, than not?” he asked, knowing exactly how Stiles felt. 

“Yeah,” Stiles said, his heart fluttering slightly as emotion gathered tension in his chest. “How do you make it stop?” 

“You don’t. Even if you left right now, got far away from me, Scott, everything, you know what’s out there now. Eventually you either move past it, or the fear consumes you, and changes you.” 

“You mean like Peter and Jennifer,” Stiles asked. 

“Exactly like them,” he said. “Tell me something good.” 

“I think I like you better like this,” Stiles said. 

“Like what?” he asked. 

“More calm, less -- large,” Stiles laughed quietly. 

“I feel more like myself again. 

“I like it,” Stiles said, running his cold fingers absently through Derek’s hair. “Erica. I think Erica is a good story.” 

Derek nodded against Stiles chest. He hoped Erica had something better, something that lived up to how he felt about her. 

“She loved you, she was special. I’ve never anything like the way she learned to fight. I think she would have been able to give Kali a run for her money. She was with us, instead of being trapped in the bank. She learned fast, it was amazing to watch. She was in love with Boyd, but you were like her brother. When things got bad for you she took care of you, and you let her. That last day she was alive you got this motorcycle delivered --”

“We went on a ride,” he said. 

Derek remembered, the reserve, long winding roads. He never had his motorcycle in Beacon Hills, but there the memory was. Someone was there with him, but it could have been Laura, or Erica. 

“Do you remember?” Stiles asked. 

“I think I do, It has to be, but it’s vague.” A short burst of excitement fluttered in his chest, then dissipated as he realized, in both places, Erica died. “Do you think it was inevitable? Vic talked about destiny, but I feel like that’s a word egotists and children use to justify things.” 

“I think you’re right, and I think she uses that word because we don't have a better one. We have jobs. Being an Alpha is a job, it’s work, power and responsibility. I have a fucking job, which is just great. I thought I was doing all this for fun.” The power of Stiles sarcasm hadn't dulled at all. “I think with certain jobs, come inevitable dangers, like miners who die from black lung, and bee keepers who get get stung.”

“Do you know why she wanted me?” he asked. 

“She said something, when she made me choose. She said that even as a Beta, you were more powerful than most Alpha’s,” Stiles said. 

“What choice did you make?” he asked. 

Stiles heartbeat quickened, he stopped playing with Derek’s hair and rubbed his eyes tightly.

“I had to chose between you and my dad,” Stiles said, his heart was racing. 

“You chose your dad. Good, I would have chosen your dad too,” Derek said, sliding his hand over Stiles chest and up to his shoulder, hoping to calm him down. 

“She killed him, and she said she could bring him back, but --”

“Don’t, don’t worry about it, or justify it to me. That’s an impossible choice, I know,” he said. 

“I gambled on us. I knew I couldn’t bring him back, but I might be able to fix things for you,” Stiles said. 

“Then it was the right choice.” 

“Maybe, but theres -- everything isn’t what it looks like on the outside. I’m human, but there’s something different about me, and I think it makes me somewhat of a target,” Stiles said, his heartbeat slowing again as he focused. 

“So maybe that’s why we’re tied together, maybe I’m supposed to protect you. I’m not sure what she meant by what she said, but I can protect you,” Derek tightened his arms around Stiles chest. 

“I don't know either, but I know this is better,” Stiles said.


	10. Nitesky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek kissed him, softness sliding against his lower lip. His hands grazed over clothing, searching, sliding against skin. Derek lifted him off the bed, his urgent kiss momentarily removing any coherent thought.

The morning was a haze of quiet voices, things he didn’t want to pay attention to. He was sleeping. Actual, honest to god sleep that felt awesome. No headaches, no nausea, no gritty eyes. He gave zero fucks, if they wanted him, they’d have to drag him kicking and screaming out of his cocoon of blankets and werewolf. 

"I don't want to move," Derek whispered.

He giggled quietly, hoping no one would bother them. 

"The acoustics up there are fucking awful, or perfect if you’re into eavesdropping," Vic said, most likely to Cora. “I don’t usually do it unless I’m getting paid. I should show you some one the listening devices we have. Some fucked up shit, you probably couldn't even find them.” 

A long sigh ruffled the hair on the back of his head. The strong warm arms slid away as Derek turned and lifted himself to talk. 

"We want coffee, if you are going to snark us out of bed," Derek said, sounding more annoyed than playful. 

"You don’t drink coffee," Vic said. 

"Stiles likes coffee," Derek said. 

“Are you fucking kidding me? Did you just do that?” Vic sounded like she was getting further away, then the water was running. “You just said ‘we’ when you meant him.” 

“Don’t be that guy Derek,” Cora said. 

“Is this normal?” Derek asked him. 

“Yes,” Stiles said. “Before I left Lydia made me a twenty five point argument outlining whether I should sleep with you or not.” 

“Oh, god, I’m out. We’re going to the porch Vic,” Cora said. 

“What? What did he say?” Vic asked, following Cora. 

Once he heard the door click shut Derek asked, “Do I want to know?” 

"No, not even remotely,” Stiles said, Derek rubbed his eyes and smiled, then moved toward him again. 

Right now he wanted a closed bedroom more than anything else in the world, so he could tell Derek what he said to Lydia in response, but even saying the words would start something he couldn’t finish here. They talked about plans for the day instead, mundane things like going to the country store, run by some commune nearby. Derek wanted to try the brick oven pizza they had on the weekends, which sounded fantastic. It wasn’t nearly what he wanted, so it was hard to care. 

The door downstairs opened and bounced off an end table loudly. He looked up just as Derek did, and saw the top of Vic’s head as she moved too quickly through the house. Derek jumped up and disappeared over the edge, landing with a hard thud before he was even on his feet. Cora was standing in the doorway with a look of shock that worried him even more. 

“Vic, stop,” Derek said. He was racing down the hallway after her, but Stiles could hear everything as he climbed down the ladder. 

“No, I need a minute,” Vic said. 

Her door opened and started to shut when he heard a thud. Cora stepped toward him as they both watched the entrance of the hallway, even though Derek and Vic were halfway down it. 

“You can’t do this, you can’t keep avoiding me,” Derek said. 

Stiles closed his eyes and let a long breath out his nose. Derek was stupid, he couldn't have chosen a worse thing to say. 

“Let go of my door,” Vic said, her voice hard. 

Both he and Cora moved quickly to the hallway, they both understood this wasn't going anywhere good. 

“Vic, I’m not trying to --” Derek started to say as the door flew open from under his hand. 

“Fuck off,” Vic said, her face was hard, and her chest was heaving. She was angry. 

Derek stood back and lowered his head, then glanced up at them before taking another step back. 

“I’m sorry,” Derek said. 

Vic slammed the door shut and Derek just stood there, his eyes frozen on the ground. There was nothing inhuman or frightening about him anymore, he was hurt, and he didn't know how to fix things with Vic. None of them did. 

“Derek, just give her some time,” he said. 

“I didn’t know she would get so upset, I didn’t --” Cora’s voice broke as she covered her mouth with her hand. Her eyes were shut, but wetness slowly crept out. 

He reached out, closing his arms around her shoulders as she turned toward him. Her breaths were ragged for a moment as she struggled with whatever had set Vic off. 

A crash, then a shattering noise came through Vic’s door. Derek went in and shut the door behind him. Stiles had seen him do this enough times to know what was coming next. Derek was an expert at letting people use him as a punching bag. He didn't want to be too far away, just in case, but they couldn’t stand out in the hallway. He didn’t want to witness whatever was about to happen that closely. 

With two doors between them and the inevitable chaos, he and Cora sat down on her bed, silently agreeing to be unnaturally quiet. Cora flinched when she heard Vic’s voice raise the first time. He took her hand in both of his and held it, threading their fingers together, then covering her hand with his much larger one. After a few minutes of escalation, words like family, responsibility, and stupidity stopped being thrown around so loudly the whole mountain could hear it. 

Things had been quiet for a few minutes when Cora tensed and leaned into his shoulder. 

“Oh, god, she’s crying.” Cora took her hand back and brought it to her lips for a moment. Her jaw clenched tightly, just like Derek's did when he was dealing with guilt.

“Hey, whatever is going on over there, it’s good. It’s better than Vic drinking herself stupid every night and running away to her room every time something reminds her of Laura a little too much,” he said. 

“You don't know that, you can't hear her,” Cora said. 

“So, stop listening. It doesn’t matter what you said to her. Whatever it was shouldn't have ended up like this, or maybe it had to? Either way, you didn't mean for this to happen. You don't say wildly antagonistic shit to people you like,” Stiles gave her a twisted little frown, letting her know he remembered all the awful shit she had said to him. 

Cora looked at him for a moment, then let a smile just barely pass her lips before she was looking at her door again, worried. “I like you now,” she said. 

“Good, because this was supposed to be a vacation, but if you like me at least it’s not a total loss.” 

Cora laughed, a short, quiet laugh. She relaxed a little, leaning over, her elbows on her knees. He did the same thing, hoping Vic remembered, even a little, that Cora could hear everything she said. They waited silently, either nothing was happening, or Cora didn't want to repeat it. Then she stood up and hovered by the door. Derek opened it and Cora left without saying anything. 

“Vic asked for her,” Derek said, not meeting his eyes. 

Violence and grief were nothing new to either of them, but Derek didn't usually have anyone to answer to, not like Vic or Cora. Stiles wasn’t surprised when Derek closed the door to the bedroom quietly and came toward the bed, dropping himself to the floor with his back against the wall. He chose the small space between the bed and the closet, trying his best to feel safe. He moved uncomfortably, like he didn’t want to move, but he couldn’t sit still. 

“She was pretty mad,” Stiles said, observing, not asking. 

Derek didn’t say anything, he looked at the floor, at a spot somewhere between his drawn up knees. Stiles watched him, subtle indications of guilt and pain flashing across his face as he thought about what happened, tried his best to wrap his head around it. 

“If Laura had taken Vic --” Derek started to say something he had thought to himself a hundred times since he found out about Vic, who she was, what she did. 

Why hadn’t Laura taken Vic to Beacon Hills? One simple act could have unraveled their entire existence, or maybe it would have been worse. Either way, there was no question, Vic should have been there. 

“You might never know why. If I had to guess, it probably had a lot to do with this fucked up stubborn streak that tends to follow around the Hale genetics,” Stiles said. 

His sarcasm fell flat. Derek wasn’t in the place to be annoyed or entertained. Stiles sighed and rubbed his forehead. There was no such thing as batting a thousand. 

“She looks sick. I didn’t notice. She’s been wearing these big winter clothes, but she was just wearing a tank top. She’s --” Derek stopped talking and looked at the door, just like Cora did when she didn’t want Stiles to see her cry. 

“I noticed, she doesn’t look like I thought she would, but -- can you look at me?” Stiles asked, brushing his hand over Derek’s knee to get his attention. “Can you stop doing this thing, where your whole world is literally being torn apart and you act like it’s some shameful, terrible thing to cry?” 

Derek looked at him, but there was no recognition on his face, his expression was blank and unchanging. 

“This is fucked up, and heart breaking,” Stiles said, trying one more time to be heard. 

Glassy pools under his irises shimmered, then spilled over without any change in his expression. After the first tears fell off Derek’s cheeks, more followed. Stiles moved over on the bed, sitting next to him. For a few minutes Derek cried like he didn't know how, or did it because he had no choice. Stiles ran his fingers through Derek’s hair, trailing down his neck. Derek trapped his hand, covering it with his own, holding it in place like he was afraid it might disappear. 

***

Vic was sleeping. Cora had stayed with her for hours, but she needed a break. He suspected Vic hadn't been sleeping much, just like Stiles. She moved, her eyebrows tightening as she felt the pain and headache she didn’t know she had yet through sleep. He touched her arm lightly, drawing it out of her completely. It took a lot of concentration with such a light touch, but he had all the time in the world. Her face relaxed slowly and she was sound asleep again. 

Sometime in the last hour Stiles had come in and sat down near his feet. He was folded up awkwardly, somehow still able to lean his head against the mattress and fall asleep. 

Tossing and turning in bed had loosened Vic’s blankets. He looked at her closely for the first time since he had come back. She wasn’t rounded anymore. Her long, muscled legs showed an unhealthy lack of fat. She had lost muscle, but she looked thin, like someone who did too much yoga instead of someone who ate peanut butter on their pancakes and rode a Harley to work. She had been letting herself waste away, seeing the story told on her body made it uncomfortably real. 

Feeling unreasonably curious about the state of Vic’s life, he slid her bedside drawer open quietly. Immediately he recognized a bracelet Laura used to wear. He picked it up and caught Laura’s scent. Too many things in this house still smelled like Laura. There was a stack of photographs in the back corner. He hesitated for a moment, hoping they weren’t private, and took a chance. 

The first one was a picture of Vic and Laura inside a tent. The trip to Cannon Beach, when they camped out and it rained all weekend. Vic’s face was round and happy as Laura held the camera at arms length. Laura was concentrating more being cute, and taking a good picture, than kissing Vic. 

If Laura hadn’t been born into a family of Werewolves, she would have been far more like Lydia Martin than he cared to admit. They all would have. He slipped the photo back into the pile, unwilling to pry further into the private life of his dead sister. 

There was one neatly rolled baggie of green buds. The scent was old and stale, her pipe was the same. There were two kinds of people who enjoyed being inebriated, people who wanted to distract themselves, and people who wanted to celebrate. Vic had stopped because she had nothing to be happy about. She didn’t want to relax or feel good. She didn’t want to feel better, or distract herself from the loss of Laura. 

He thought he could be like Laura, that he was the leader she had been raised to be. He let himself get caught up. He used and marginalized people he had no right to. He had plotted and schemed like Peter, instead of using his resources to mitigate the damage and further the truth, like Laura would have done. She understood the raw power and reality of natural consequence, and self sacrifice. 

Laura never craved power, because she didn’t need brute force to survive. He had power, he had more of it than most people could ever imagine, and it had only made things far worse for everyone. It hadn’t saved anyone, or helped him, not until it was time to give it up. Every good thing in his life, he had in spite of the power that had been stolen from Laura. 

He already felt better, more whole and more himself without the Alpha. There was no way he could just drive away with Cora and hope for a new life. He had to fix the damage, and apologize for the mistakes he made all along the way. He couldn’t do it all at once, but he could start with Vic. 

Cora and Patrick came back with groceries. They moved quietly through the house, making sure not to wake up Vic. After a while Cora came in. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and rested her cheek on the top of his head.

“You should go,” she whispered. “I’ll stay with her.” 

“She has a headache,” he said, like it was a reason to stay, but Cora could deal with it just as easily as he could. 

She pulled him up out of his chair and woke up Stiles, then walked them over to the doorway. He stood in the doorway as she kicked off her shoes and crawled into bed with Vic. He reluctantly walked away, closing the door behind him. He followed Stiles out to the kitchen and moved one of Vic’s heavy work bags to sit at the bar. 

A very abused piece of white paper slid over to him as Patrick walked past him into the kitchen. He recognized Laura’s writing. It was a list of things to improve around Vic’s house. Not things that were broken, but things that could be better. 

“Where did you get this?” he asked Patrick. 

“I found it in the garage. She threw it away a couple times, but then put it back. I kept seeing it -- I don’t know -- I think I was afraid she’d throw it away again.” Patrick answered. “I was gonna do a few of those things, and I didn’t want it to disappear, but I know that’s not Vic’s writing, so I think it might belong to you now.” 

“It’s my sisters writing, thank you,” he said, folding it up and putting it in his wallet. “How long have you lived here?” Derek asked Patrick. 

“Only a few months. I graduated last year so I was living with my parents when she hired me. It’s hard to do a job like this with normal people around, so she let me move into the cabin if I fixed it up,” Patrick said, offering him a can of soda. 

He shook his head and kept asking questions because Patrick was willing to give him answers. “How did you guys meet?” 

“By accident, how else do you meet Vic? Unless you’re a criminal, or a stripper,” Patrick grinned, but continued. “I was going on a date to the Fish Ladder down at the dam --” 

“Wait, whats a Fish Ladder?” Stiles asked. 

“This viewing area for migrating fish, like a bunch of aquariums, but you can see the wild Trout and Salmon as they migrate. It’s like a tourist and learning place. We all go there for school, like, field trips and there’s a bunch of plaques up all over telling you all about how the Dam works, and when the fish do their thing. I think it’s cool.” Patrick shrugged. “It’s the closest thing we have to a museum around here.” 

“Random shit to do on date night that makes you look interesting,” Stiles said as he built an epic pile of cheese sandwiches to grill. 

Patrick nodded and continued. “So get there and start making my way down these long ass metal steps that go to the viewing area, and I see this big, mean looking dude come hauling out from under the place, where the visitors aren’t supposed to go. He looks like the devils on his ass, and I think ‘shit, I am so dead’. Then Vic comes out, chasing the guy. She jumps the rails like some fucking spy movie hero and lands right behind him. She’s got him, but then she see’s me and yells at me to get the hell out of there.

“It was a do or die sort of situation. She was more worried about keeping me safe than getting that guy, so she’s probably the good guy. So, I haul ass off the stairs and hide at the entrance. I wait till I see him and wham, right in the side of the head,” Patrick smiled as he pantomimed the punch. “Dude was on his ass, it was awesome.” 

“So how did you go from face punching guy, to superhero sidekick?” Stiles asked. 

“Well, she beat that guy down and threw him in her buick. She said thank you, told me her name, but I didn’t think I’d ever see her again honestly. A couple days later my brother tells me this big scary lady is standing on our front porch, and do I know her? She asked me if I wanted a job, right there on the spot. Start today, come in for testing. Obviously I said hell yeah. We went to Eugene to see this dude who asked me a bunch of completely messed up shit to making sure I wasn’t crazy, but the time he was done I thought they were the CIA or something.” Patrick shook his head, a dark expression on his face. 

“We go eat dinner and Vic asks me if I enjoyed living in a god awful shit hole, with my hysterical relatives. They didn’t make a great impression, and it was a trailer park. She offered me the cabin, under the express understanding that I was useful and didn’t bother her. Then I met Leo and the rest of the crew and they put me to work. It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me in my life,” Patrick ended his story, leaving no room for interpretation. 

“Who was the guy, the one she was chasing,” Stiles asked. 

Derek held a hand out for the grilled sandwich on the spatula and Stiles slid it right into his hand. 

“He was wanted on charges of human trafficking, rape, coercion. He was a bad dude. He skipped out up north in this tiny ass car with cash and drugs. He thought that he could stop in some podunk, nowhere gas station and fill up, but Leo has access to almost every gas station camera feed off the I-5 corridor. He never stood much of a chance. The older guys don’t usually know much about modern tech capabilities like facial recognition software, they think it’s all spy movie stuff.” 

Patrick was intensely proud of his work, and he had good reason to be. His job was black and white, bad guys and good guys. The FBI, Rangers, they didn’t offer monetary compensation for wanted fugitives unless the case was solid and the crime was substantial.

“Do you know why Vic was out there chasing the guy down alone?” he asked. 

Vic had never worked alone. She always took a driver at least. Laura even went on pick ups, when she happened to be around when Vic got a call. 

“She worked alone before I got here, now she’s training me,” Patrick said.

It was about time to reach out and see what Leo had to say. He had never actually spoken to Leo before, but if he wanted answers, Leo would have them. 

"Thanks,” Derek said. 

As he walked down the hall toward the back room Stiles was enthusiastically barraging Patrick with questions about his career. He hoped leaving him alone with Patrick wasn’t the worst idea ever. 

In the room he looked for a burner phone in the top drawer of the desk. He dialed back the last number that had come in, and a deep male voice answered. 

"Vic? Everything okay?" The man asked. 

"Is this Leo?" He asked. 

There was a pause as the man on the other end got up out of a chair. 

"Derek Hale, why are you calling me, is my sister okay?" Leo demanded. 

"She's fine, she's sleeping," he answered, hoping, but unsure what he expected besides apparent hugeness and a quick wit. He was definitely Vic’s brother.

"So, she's not okay, but she doesn't know that right now because she's crashed out?" Leo asked only slightly perturbed. 

"Yeah," Definitely Vic’s brother. 

"When she told me you were coming I figured something might go down. Did she hurt you?" Leo asked. 

"She tried, she wore herself out. Cora is with her now." He wished there was more he could say to Leo. A promise, or an apology that would mean something. 

Leo had helped them a lot over the years, and this was the first time he had ever bothered to take the time to talk to the guy. 

"Why did you call?" Leo asked.

"I want to know what's been going on with Vic, how things got this bad. I know there’s only so much you can do with her, she’s impossible to influence, I just want to know what happened," he said. 

"You know, you don't sound like the hard ass everyone makes you out to be." Leo said.

They talked for almost an hour, most of it was Leo relaying stories of his sisters slow downward spiral. Eventually Leo took her to the hospital and put her in a psychiatric hold for her own safety because she was talking about getting messages from the powers that be in her dreams. 

When she got out she cleaned up and apologized to Leo, then started asking for work. She told him she didn’t want to talk to people anymore, she just wanted to catch bail jumpers and bring money in.

“What we have going doesn’t function very well without her. I look like a sasquatch who eats children for dinner, and so do most of my guys. People are terrified of us, that’s the point. She makes people feel safe, they trust her. I need that, and I think she needs to do this job to be herself again.” Leo said. 

“I think I can stick around until she gets back on track, but it’s your call,” Derek offered. 

“If you think you can get her back, I’ll help however I can. I’ve come to the end of my resources. I kept her alive, but I want better for her than that,” Leo said. 

“You have my number, we’ll keep in touch,” Derek said, then said goodbye. 

Quiet voices were coming from Vic’s room. He was nervous to talk to her again, but he wanted to know if she was okay, more than he cared about how he felt. 

He knocked lightly on the door, “It’s Derek.” 

Vic called him in, she was laying in bed with Cora. They were stretched out over the covers with the wall heater cranked up. The air was heavy, and distracting because the rest of the house was always on the brink of cold. 

“I know, it’s hot in here. I was freezing and Cora said she missed Mexico, it turned into a whole thing,” Vic smiled at him. 

He didn’t expect her to be so nice to him. It took him a moment to react, to start talking. 

“You look like you’re feeling better,” he said. 

“Come over here,” Vic said, sitting up in the bed. 

She motioned to Cora to sit back and they both leaned against the headboard, Vic told him to get in, pointing between the two of them. There was no dignified way to maneuver it, which was probably Vic’s plan. Cora smiled, amused as he half crawled across the bed and sat down between them. Once he was settled in Vic propped herself against his shoulder and wrapped a hand around his arm. 

He wanted to say things that made it better, but the only thing they could do was forgive each other and move on. He didn’t know how to ask her for that. He wasn’t allowed yet, it was still too soon. 

“We are both huge assholes. We are so much alike, and we both loved Laura, but I’m older and wiser than you, so you have to listen, okay?” Vic said. 

“You are four years older than me,” Derek said. “But I’ll listen.” 

“Shit got complicated, really complicated. I don’t like what you did, but I never expected you to call me if shit went sideways. I expected her to call though. I thought Laura and I had that. I thought she -- I thought things were different, but that has nothing to do with you. I apologize, I want you to know you are safe here,” Vic said. 

“I chose to put myself between you and the wall, I know I’m safe here,” he said. 

“I never want to hurt you Derek. You aren’t a punching bag, you’re my family,” Vic said, looking up at him. 

“Sometimes I’m angry, that she went back without anyone. Before I knew anything about you I wondered why she did it. We don't do things like that alone, she knew that,” Cora said. 

“I heard nothing. She didn’t give me any clue there was anything going on. We were always texting, sending pictures, and then it just stopped, you both disappeared. I asked Leo to look into it, but he kept a lot from me, because of all the weird shit going on,” Vic said. 

"She was worried for Peter, but she wasn't sure about it. She thought if someone came into our old territory looking to settle a vendetta. The only Hale they would find there was Peter," Derek said. “We were never sure what was going to come find us, our family has a long history we know nothing about.” 

“Don’t try to do it alone, you don’t have to.” Vic’s voice was quiet, heavy with defeat. 

What she didn’t say out loud was if he tried to do it alone, and failed, he would end up leaving the same mess behind as Laura had. He understood it acutely, the repercussions of her actions reached further than he could possibly imagine. 

“She always knew what to do, what the answer was. She kept one eye on everything and the other on a plan. It’s unbelieveable she made a stupid mistake like that, and it got her killed,” Cora said, remembering an idealized version of Laura, from when they were young. 

“She didn’t always know what to do. Things were bad right after we left Beacon Hills. By the time you met her Vic, she was more like herself again, but there was a time when Laura was totally lost. When I had to take care of her, and keep us alive,” Derek said, deciding to tell them something he promised he would never tell anyone. A secret Laura had asked him to keep. “When we first ran away we went to Slab City. Laura knew no one would ever be able to find us in such an unreliably regulated place. There were enough people for us to be anonymous, but no one can be found in the chaos of that place, unless they want to be. 

“After a few days we had a fight about staying. I wanted to go back, make sure Peter was still alive, I wanted to find Kate, and kill her. Laura had been pushed too far. I found her breaking point that day. She hurt me, and scared me, making me understand she wasn’t just my sister anymore, she was the Alpha. I ran away, I was so afraid of her. I was gone all day out in the desert, unsure of what to do or if I should go back. It was dark when I started to make my way back, then I heard her. 

“She was in some kind of pain, so I ran. When I got there though, it wasn’t what I expected -- she wasn’t being hurt. Three guys tried to hurt her. She wouldn’t tell me what happened. They were ripped to pieces. I couldn’t tell there had been three of them until she told me later. 

“After that, I never left her alone, ever. She didn’t look like what she was, people didn’t understand. She had no one to help her, she wasn’t ready for it. Being Alpha was just suddenly hers. She lost control for a long time. I could barely keep her safe. I had to keep her isolated most of the time. She was terrified one minute, then she was tearing things apart the next. Eventually she learned how to control it, but it wasn’t easy, or quick.” 

“I never thought about how it might have changed her,” Cora said. “Or that she might have killed people.” 

“That wasn’t the only time she killed, but it was the only time she did it unintentionally,” he said. 

“You guys stayed mobile for a long time, you were far away from anyone who knew you. She never had to live with the consequences, not like you,” Vic pointed out to him. 

Both Cora and Vic were quiet. He didn’t know what else to say. All he could think of were those first few nights out in the desert. He was terrified when he heard Laura howl. The desert played tricks on you, made you think you were closer, or further away than it seemed. He didn’t know that then. He’d gotten too far away, even though he could still see the faint lights of the encampment.

The thought of losing her drove him hard. He didn't care who saw him, or what might be there when he got to her, he ran with everything he had. The moment he caught sight of her, he stumbled and fell. Relief made him weak, until he saw she was covered in blood. She had no shirt on, her eyes were glowing red, but she was barely on her feet. 

He picked her up and ran with her back to the car, hoping it was still where they left it. Thats when he saw the blood, all the things that had been men previously. He drove deep into the desert, hiding until he could manage Laura somewhat on his own. They were lucky he hadn’t left anything behind, or the Argents would have scoured the desert, not caring what kind of men Laura had killed, or why, only that she had. 

The next time she killed a man there was just as much blood, but she wasn’t afraid, and she wasn’t sorry.  
“She had you to help her,” Cora said, remembering what he had mentioned earlier. 

“I didn’t take care of her, I barely kept her alive, and still she took care of me,” Derek said, knowing he never would have survived those years without Laura protecting him. 

“Laura was good at taking care of people. One time she told me I had to stop eating so many eggs because my cholesterol was high, that she could smell it on my breath. I half ass placated her with no intention of doing it. She wouldn’t leave it alone, so I went in to the doctor and found out it was a little high. She railed on me for that one, you remember,” Vic grinned. 

“Yeah, she was pretty mad you didn’t believe her,” he said. 

“I lived, just barely,” Vic stretched out and swung her legs of the side of the bed. “Let’s go be people. I’m starving.” 

In the kitchen Stiles and Patrick were still comparing war stories, monsters versus criminals now. Opening up a whole new bag of crazy seemed to be more entertaining to Patrick than terrifying. Stiles had just finished explaining the twins, when Patrick upped him with a story about a serial killer Leo and Vic had bagged years ago. 

“That was actually a Far Darrig,” Vic said as she took a plate of food offered by Stiles. “He was changing out human babies for changeling babies, and sacrificing the human babies. We didn’t know where the sacrifices were coming from, because they were all safe and sound in their cribs as far as anyone knew. That’s how we found out about all the supernatural stuff, that was a wake up call I didn’t need.”

“But that was just a few years ago?” Patrick said, questioning the timeline. 

“Yeah, a few months before I met Laura and Derek,” She answered. “I guess it was a good thing ‘cause I don’t think I would have reacted as well to Laura’s little revelation. As it was, she showed me, and I thought it was sorta hot.” 

“I think I look kinda creepy and evil,” Cora laughed. 

“Derek has no eyebrows, he goes from having mad eyebrow game, to zilch. Nothin’ It’s super weird. I’m like who --” Stiles turned toward him and stopped talking. “I’m being funny,” he said, as if he needed to clarify. 

“You’re being hilarious, please, continue. Maybe I’ll get it out and share my eyebrowless humiliation with everyone?” He was kidding, but he hoped his unhappy expression would rattle Stiles a little.

“I’m curious,” Patrick said. 

“I’ve never seen it either,” Vic said.

“How is that?” Stiles asked, surprised. 

“Unlike you, I haven’t made a habit of getting him in trouble.” Vic gave Stiles a self satisfied grin. “Surprise me one day. It’ll be fun,” Vic said to him, then left for the back deck. 

Once Vic was out the door, Cora right behind her, Patrick spoke up. “Leo texted me, said we’re still on for the Hidden Lake thing, was he serious?” 

“I don’t know, it depends on whether or not Vic remembers it, and wants to go do it. It has to be her idea,” Derek said. 

Investment in some old family home, or anything that could hurt Cora or any of them was low on his list of priorities, but he was willing to entertain it, if it got Vic any closer to good. It didn’t look very promising to him though. He hoped something better would come up, something more about saving people than fighting something insidious. 

 

***

A loud, hacking cough woke him up. It was a cough that echoed, like someone was dying. The house was dark, he couldn’t tell where it was coming from. 

“It’s just Vic,” Derek reassured him. 

He expected Derek to be awake if it had woken him, but his voice gave Stiles a start anyways. 

“That cough sounds bad,” Stiles said, wondering why she was out in the cold. 

“She’s smoking,” Derek said. 

“Weed?” he asked. 

“Of course.” 

Without giving Derek a chance to protest he got up and climbed down the ladder. Derek followed him, grabbing their blankets like any rational person would. The screen door creaked and Derek shot it an accusatory glare, probably adding it to his list of things he intended to fix. Earlier he had torn apart the drain in the kitchen, because it wasn’t draining well. Only to find out it was roots outside causing the back up. 

He had no idea Derek was so domestically useful. 

“Hey, you okay?” he asked Vic, immediately shivering in the freezing cold air. 

Derek wrapped a blanket around him before they sat down, then pulled his legs up, over Derek’s lap, so his bare feet weren’t on the deck. Derek put his feet up on the table, like he always did. 

“It’s been a while. I probably sounded like I was dying.” Vic was embarrassed, but she laughed it off. “You guys should help me burn through this shit. Harvest wasn’t that long ago. Leo is sending a new strain over tomorrow. An Indica he says smells like cinnamon and pine.” 

“This is why I don’t smoke anywhere else, no one has what you guys have. I’ve tried other stuff, but it wasn’t anything like what Leo grows.” Derek took Vic’s pipe off the table and cleaned it while he talked. 

“Leo is a very focused, very creative person. This is his art. If he painted, he’d be famous by now, or at least working, but he’d rather do this. In the meantime, I think he’s accidentally figured out how to solve world hunger via hydroponics, so... I’m proud,” Vic said. 

“I thought all those vegetables were really clean, did he grow those?” Derek asked as he packed the bowl of the pipe, methodically, like he had done it many times before. 

“The tomatoes, peppers and lettuce, yeah. He’ll probably drop more by tomorrow.” 

The moon was bright, but it was still a few days from being full. His breath fogged, billowing out like smoke. He watched Vic smoke from the glass pipe, then Derek. Never having done it himself, he didn’t want to do it wrong, or look stupid. He wasn’t sure how he would react, but he always wanted to try it. 

“Derek Hale; burn out, pot head.” He laughed, Vic snorted and shook her head. 

“You have no idea the shit you don’t know about me.” Derek smiled. “I am barrels of fun.” 

He wasn’t very successful keeping the smoke down. His lungs burned and he coughed like Vic did. Derek rubbed his back as his head started to feel light and his body began to relax. Once he stopped coughing, he felt good. 

His second try was far more successful. He felt the tingly body high creeping slowly across his chest and arms. He liked the scent of it, he wondered what the stuff she was getting tomorrow would be like. 

He handed the pipe back to Derek, but he was watching something over Stiles shoulder. He turned to look, but didn’t see anything remarkable.  
“What’s goin’ on over there Blue Eyes?” Vic asked, tapping against his foot with her own. 

“Nothing, everything, resisting the urge to go jump in the river,” Derek answered gravely. 

“That river is made entirely of snow melt. You would be a werewolf shaped popsicle in a matter of minutes,” Vic warned, just in case Derek was unsure. 

“I know,” Derek said, sounding annoyed. 

“I’m freezing my ass off. I was about to go in when you guys came out.” Vic pointed at Stiles. “You make sure he doesn’t do anything too stupid, I have a tranq gun in the locker if we need it.” 

“I’ll be okay,” Derek said, smiling as he got up and walked with her to the door. “I love you Vic, I’ve missed you.”

“Same,” Vic hugged Derek around his neck and he squeezed her back until she made a noise like it was uncomfortable. Derek kissed her temple as he let her go and opened the door for her. 

He wanted to laugh at Derek acting so out of character, but he didn’t want to ruin anything or be an asshole. Derek came back and sat next to him, wrapping them both in the blanket together. He was radiating heat like a furnace, and his eyes were dimly glowing and flickering, like a candle light. 

“You’re cold,” Derek whispered. 

“I won’t be for long,” he answered, his lips and nose pressed against Derek’s cheek. 

“I’ve been remembering things, I think, but I was thinking about us now. I know when noticed you, when I started looking forward to seeing you everyday. It was when you came to me with the maps to look for Boyd and Erica, you figured out how to group us up, so we could cover more space in less time. You hadn’t slept, even Peter was reminding you to eat.

“You could have walked away and been a regular guy all summer, like Scott did, but you came with us. I still don’t understand why you never told him, but I was grateful you were there.” Derek 

He should say something, but as much as the weed seemed to make Derek more talkative, he wasn’t sure what to say. All he could think about was the way his skin felt, and how much he liked Derek’s voice. 

“I’ll come up with cool shit to say tomorrow, but I’d love it if you kept talking. Can we go inside though? It’s too cold out here,” Stiles said. 

Derek walked with him to the door, but took off as soon as they were inside. Stiles couldn’t see much except the streak of his eyes as he moved for too quickly. He looked up at the loft and Derek was perched on the ledge, waiting for him to climb the ladder. 

“You put a lot of effort into acting like a normal person don’t you?” he asked.

“A few years ago someone pointed out I was kind of obvious and creepy, that I should try tripping or dropping something occasionally. I’ve gotten pretty good at orchestrating realism,” Derek admitted. 

“Wait, what about that time you stumbled and dropped that frosty in my lap handing me my lunch?” he asked, recalling how genuine that had been. He wasn’t even angry about it. He apologized to Derek for his big feet being in the way. 

“I’m sorry, you were really annoying that day, but then you apologized to me. I felt so bad about it, I never did it again.” Derek smiled. 

“Dick,” Stiles said, kicking him playfully as he climbed into bed. “Not complaining, but are the eyes ever going to turn off?” 

“No, probably not, not as long as you’re around,” Derek said. 

“That’s all my fault, huh?” Stiles asked. 

“Mostly, I’m sure.” Derek said, closing the space between them. 

“The red was a little... alarming, but these are --” 

Derek kissed him, softness sliding against his lower lip. His hands grazed over clothing, searching, sliding against skin. Derek lifted him off the bed, his urgent kiss momentarily removing any coherent thought. 

He remembered the connection they had before, how hesitant he had been to live in it, see things through Derek’s eyes. He was thankful for the reassurance what he felt was real, but knowing was too easy. He needed to understand the meaning of it for himself; to feel it authentically as his own. 

The mystery of what brought Derek’s eyes to life was one he wanted to dissect and recreate, until the question was answered and replaced by sincere devotion. Derek’s sincerity wasn’t in doubt, not as his mouth diligently tasted Stiles skin, and his hands removed all the barriers between them. He craved the urgency of it, he thought about it tirelessly, but someday he wanted something slow and quiet. 

He built the idea in his mind, setting a goal, something he would offer up to Derek later as a need or a desire. Something Derek would agree to with an abundance of reserved intensity. Reservation was not an idea Derek understood as his open mouth dragged over Stiles cheek, saying words that would violate his dignity, if he claimed any.


	11. Hold On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What is she?" Stiles asked. 
> 
> "Just a banshee, that's all."

It took Vic two days of random questions and thoughtful scowls to talk herself into going to Hidden Lake. Derek played it off like a pro, nodding, smiling, acting like he wasn’t invested, forcing Vic to talk him into it. It was underhanded, manipulative, and a true labor of love. As soon as she decided, everyone else was scrambling to catch up. The next day they were gearing up and heading out on the road. 

“I don’t give a fuck Hal. I need a driver. If Benny is in Texas then just fucking do it yourself... You think we’re going to be sharing a hotel room? You’re a fucking asshole.” Vic was pacing inside the gun locker as she talked to someone named Hal. 

All he knew about Hal was he sounded like the jolly green giant when he laughed, and apparently he was going to be their driver, and he was an asshole. 

Stiles shuffled impatiently outside of the gun locker, waiting, like Vic told him to. It was also her idea that he carry a weapon. He was the Sheriff's kid, he knew how to shoot. She wasn’t excited about handing him a new set of identification that said he was twenty one, with a concealed carry permit, but she said he had to go, and he had to be able to protect himself. She also made him swear on his testicles he would never let his dad find out. 

“Hal...one more, just one more fucking word... This is a family job. I need you on your best behavior.” Vic hung the phone up and turned to him. “You know what? Big, nerdy white dudes are fucking entitled assholes.” 

“I’m a fan of feminism,” Stiles said, following her into the locker. 

“You understand what it means to be marginalized somewhat.” Vic pulled off her over shirt and took off her own shoulder rig. “You still get to be whatever people decide you are, because fucking look at you... but you have the ability to empathize.”

Everytime he saw her without the layers of clothes, or the huge ugly robe she had, he was looking at a ghost. She was about the same size as he was, but he remembered her being almost as big as Derek used to be. The tattoos that covered her arms and back were vivid and dark against her pale skin. Blue veins snaked across the skin of her chest and neck. Everywhere she wasn’t inked looked nearly translucent. 

“Hal is huge, really smart, white, loud, built like a mac truck, and he thinks he’s a nice guy. You’ll meet him, unfortunately. He pisses me the fuck off every time we talk because he hits on me mercilessly, like saying no is some kind of joke.” 

That sort of thing was common amongst guys he knew that hadn’t learned to respect anyone yet, not even themselves, but he was still in high school. This Hal guy should know better, especially being friends with someone like Vic. He couldn’t imagine her allowing anyone to get away that sort of behavior on the regular without some kind of dire consequence. 

Vic pulled her holster over his shoulders and adjusted it quickly. She took another one off a hook and adjusted the back, then put it on. “I don’t know why I thought this would fit you, It was made for Laura.” Vic said to herself mostly as she clipped an M9 under her arm. 

“Okay, nothing flashy. I have an M9, Glock 27, or a Browning Mark III.” Vic wasn’t fucking around about arming him, but she presented the weapons as if they were the least she could do. 

“Does he really need that?” Derek asked gruffly as he walked by with a bag in his hand. 

Vic waited for Stiles to answer, choosing to ignore Derek, probably because she already had an enough shit from dudes this morning.

“What about the M1911 right there?” He pointed to a weapon he was more familiar with. 

“That has half the rounds,” she stated, taking it down and handing it over. 

The gun was heavier in his hands than he remembered. The last time he picked one up he was preparing himself to shoot at paper. She watched him check the case, safety and bullet clip, silently approving. She added a double magazine pouch to the right side of his rig and told him he was done.

“Why do you only have one rig? My dad has a different one for each one of his guns,” he asked. 

“Because I fear change,” she said. 

He smiled, understanding her snarkiness. He had come to learn that the answer would show up later. At some random moment she would blurt it out and they would continue on, as if it made perfect sense. 

The weight of the gun and magazine holster under his arms, the stretch of the shoulder rig across his back, made him feel heavier and more powerful. He stopped and looked at himself in the mirror next to the coat rack. His newly acquired black tactical gear made him look like a taller, leaner version of Patrick. No one who saw him like this would think he was anything but a professional in his early twenties. 

The door swung shut next to him, Derek stood at the door looking him up and down. 

“I’m willing to admit when I’m wrong.” Derek said, coming over and taking the badge clip out of his pocket. “Bruce, that is nothing like your real name.” 

“You don’t know my real name,” he smiled.

“Stanislaw,” Derek said, shoving the ID back in his pocket. Derek smiled at the look of abject horror on his face, but didn’t let him ask how. “I don’t know why we need fake names. We should be able to pull this off without anyone checking our I.D.’s” Derek said disapprovingly. 

“Because,” Vic said as she walked toward them, down the hall. “We don’t put our home lives at risk on mission. The last thing you need is some nut job following you home. It’s professional Derek, you know, what I get paid for.” 

She pushed them out of the way as she went out the door. 

“I promise, once we’re on the road she’ll be in a better mood,” Derek said. 

Obviously Derek hadn’t been paying attention as she talked about Hal. 

As they waited for their driver, they set everything up on the porch. The bags were staged, as well as two boxes he hadn’t seen inside yet. They waited aimlessly for a bit as Vic paced, looking more and more like she might let her annoyance get the best of her. Finally a large, boxy blue van pulled up. 

It was nothing like he expected. Older, very beat up, and not stealthy or shiny at all. Functionally, the van was inconspicuous enough, but the guy behind the wheel was a dead ringer for at least one professional wrestler he had seen on T-shirts and posters hanging in the windows of 7-11’s. 

“Is that Hal?” he asked Patrick.

“Yeah, Leo likes to hire big guys. He’s kinda loud, but he’s good at what he does,” Patrick said diplomatically. 

“What is he good at? Smelling the blood of Englishmen?” 

“Hey Vic!” Hal said loudly, his considerable weight made the van bounce as he got out. 

Hal stretched out and popped his back, smiling widely at Vic. He looked like he was over six and a half feet tall and very, very white. His neck and arms were massive, the rest of him was much thinner and hidden by an oddly baggy, knitted black sweater. Stiles guessed he was about 30 years old. He had a long, dark red beard and shaggy hair that made him look much older than he actually was. 

Hal raised his arms to hug Vic hello and Vic took a step back. When Hal’s smile got bigger and his momentum kept moving forward, Derek stepped between them. Hal stopped but the smile never left his face. Hal was either very stupid, or incredibly stupid, depending on how much he knew about Derek. Vic pushed Derek out of the way, giving him an annoyed glance for his trouble. 

“You’re a big asshole Hal, you walk up here and the first thing you do is piss off the guy you’re supposed to be working with all weekend.” Vic said. 

Hal just laughed, like it was all a joke. He introduced himself to Stiles and Derek enthusiastically, like nothing strange had happened at all. Derek was completely thrown off by this huge person who lived inside a bubble of privilege so big, he never had to acknowledge how anyone else felt. 

The guy literally had no natural predators, socially or physically. He had, most likely, walked around his entire life never being challenged by anything. He didn't have to care what anyone thought of him, so he didn’t.

Derek silently stalked Hal with his eyes as he helped pack up the van. Cora finally finished packing and came out the door smiling. She introduced herself to Hal, then threw her bag on top of one of the long boxes and picked it up by the handles. 

“Oh, here, let me get that,” Hal said, making an attempt to be accommodating. 

“I got it, it’s fine.” Cora smiled as she walked the box over and set it in the back of the van. 

Hal bent down to pick up the other one and made a heaving noise as he lifted it. Cora came to his rescue, taking one end from him and walking it over awkwardly, adjusting her end to his height. 

“Where do you want it?” Cora asked. 

“Um, up under the seat if you can?” Hal said, with a little trepidation. 

Cora got into the van and took the box from Hal, dropping it and pushing it under the seat. Hal held out his hand to help Cora out the back. She took it, smiling graciously as she dropped the two feet to the ground. 

“He’s being nice to Cora,” he whispered to Derek, pushing his own bags under the first bench seat in the back of the van. He hoped that counted for something. “He doesn’t seem so bad,” Stiles tried again. 

“You can’t sense what I can, that guy thinks he owns Vic. Maybe he’s smart enough to not act on it, but he’s dangerous. People like that are dangerous, no matter how nice they are,” Derek said, handing his bag to Stiles. 

There wasn’t much he could say about it. He didn’t doubt Derek, but he didn’t get a creeper vibe off Hal either.

“Did you hear Derek when he was talking about Hal?” he asked Cora as they walked into the house. 

“Yes, and Derek doesn’t quite understand what he’s picking up on, they have a history. I’ll talk to him about it later,” Cora promised. 

Outside Derek was arguing with Vic about seating arrangements. She told him to get in the back, he was insisting on sitting next to Hal in the front. Derek lost, Vic was in charge, just like he planned. 

The drive up to Portland was uneventful. He sat next to Derek and slept most of the way. Vic and Hal rode in silence, except when Hal asked Vic if they needed to stop. The answer was always no, so two and a half hours later they pulled into a gas station and filled the tank before heading up the mountain. 

A few minutes into their drive Vic dropped her seat back and turned around, asking for everyones attention. 

“The current rumor is that Hidden Lake is haunted, but we have no real evidence that’s true. We don’t know what we’re looking for, but there have been a few mysterious deaths, most recently three pack members from Government Camp. I’ve negotiated us passage, we shouldn't have any trouble, but Hidden Lake is a popular tourist trail. It’s late enough in the season hikers aren’t interested right now, but keep an eye out.” Vic warned them. “My current theory is that Hidden Lake has been a meeting point for someone, and we might find evidence of that reason. My best guess for the werewolf murders is your friend old friend Duke, who was reported to be in the area at the time.”

“Deucalion?” he asked. 

“He wasn’t specifically at Hidden Lake, but he was renting a penthouse in Seattle. That's a few hours away, but close enough if he had a meeting here with someone or something,” Vic said. 

“That’s just... awesome,” he said sarcastically.

“Look, I got us full, unadulterated access to the whole mountain. In the land of uptight, superstitious, backwards, hillbilly Werewolves; we are kings. Even if we don’t find anything, we can still have a pretty good time." Vic said. 

“There’s snow up there, right?” Cora asked hopefully. 

“Not today, but maybe by Monday,” Vic answered. 

Not being an integral part of the planning made him nervous. This team wasn’t a haphazard democracy like at home. Everyone here had ten times more experience than he did, and actual tactical training. He was the grunt. A well loved and incredibly intelligent grunt, but a grunt none the less. 

They got in around lunch time. His stomach growled as they unloaded. The suite they were in at the lodge was far nicer than they needed. There was a black rotary phone that said concierge in the front walkway. It was bigger than any house he'd lived in. He had never stayed at a place like this, or even been in a place like this. 

“How much is this place setting you back?” He asked Vic, exploring the kitchen as she walked through.

“Me? No, your boyfriend is paying.” Vic shouted for everyone to hurry up, they were supposed to be back on the road in twenty minutes. 

Two hours later he was sitting in the van at the trailhead to Hidden Lake, waiting for Derek to return his request for a check in. It had taken them ten minutes to drive here, but almost an hour of Hal and Derek arguing about how to get there, and him insisting they had to stop and eat. Neither he or Hal were in her good graces at the moment.

Derek and Cora were faster, and less likely to be damaged if there was something dangerous at the lake, so they went ahead to scout the area first. The local pack had been by the lake many times, but they weren’t looking for anything but an obvious threat. 

“Every two minutes is a bit excessive don’t you think?” Vic asked him from the front seat. She had her legs stretched out on the dash of the van. 

“No, it’s just right. That’s five check-in’s, along the way, unless they are faster. If they were human, you wouldn’t be asking that,” he argued. 

“Yeah, exactly. They aren’t fucking human. They’re fine.” Vic snorted. 

“We’re fine Stiles.” Derek came over the radio, his voice metallic and faint. 

Two minutes later Cora checked in, then Derek told them they had gotten to the lake, and they were going to take a quick run around it to see if they could find anything. 

He was tapping his feet nervously, ticking off the seconds of the third minute into their run around the small lake when the radio came alive again. 

“We have a problem,” Derek said. 

“What?” he said far too loudly into the radio. 

“There’s something in the lake, we have to go around it, really far around it,” Derek said, trying his best to be heard and be quiet at the same time. 

“Do you want us to come meet you?” he asked.

“No, we’re switching to open line,” Derek answered. The constant static switched on and they listened to Derek running. 

“Cora, this way,” Derek said, his voice thin as he started breathing heavy. 

“Derek, the trail,” They heard Cora say far away. 

A few minutes later Derek came down the trail head, Cora on his heels. They slowed and stopped, coming just short of the van. 

“What the heck was that?” he demanded. 

“I’m not sure, but we need to get the heck out of here before it decides to wander down the mountain,” Derek said as he pulled his pack off and dumped it in the van. 

“Wander? It’s going to be wandering? It has legs?” he asked.

“C’mon, get in the van. You’re such a pain in my ass.” Vic growled at him. 

They were back on the road and almost back to the lodge when Derek pulled him in and whispered in his ear, “It looked like Lydia Martin.” 

 

***

 

The staircase leading to his room creaked loudly, announcing Stiles as he came down, freshly showered, a fluffy white towel hung over his shoulders. He had on sweat pants, and nothing else. Derek turned a small red stone over in his fingers, sitting at the breakfast bar, waiting. 

“You waited until I was gone to tell them?” Stiles asked. 

Derek looked up at him, not wanting to argue again about why Stiles wanted to keep the creatures similarities to Lydia quiet until they knew more. He couldn’t imagine what the table full of silent faces looked like in the dining room behind him. A hard, unforgiving expression transformed Stiles face. Derek wanted to work with him, but Stiles had been completely unreasonable. He pushed the stone across the counter top anyways, giving Stiles the first look at it, hoping he would accept it as some kind of peace offering. 

Stiles picked it up and flipped it in his fingers, turning the stone until he saw the bird as well. 

“Theres a hole in it, like it’s a pendant. Are you sure some tourist didn’t drop it?” Stiles asked. 

“It’s old, I can tell,” he said. 

“It’s definitely a bird, but what kind?” Stiles asked. 

“Let us take a look,” Vic asked, holding out her hand. 

Stiles handed it over, then loomed quietly as she studied it. Her expression changed from surprise to something more alarming. Derek stood up, about to ask what Vic knew when she pulled off her shirt and lifted the hem of her black tank top. On her ribs a small, intricate, black tattoo of celtic knotwork had a similar design. It looked like a crow in her tattoo. 

“Hal has one too,” Vic said, getting up and lifting Hal’s sweater, revealing a much larger version of the same crow. 

“It’s the symbol for the warrior queen, the death mother, The Morrigan.” Hal said, looking at the stone Vic handed him.

“The Death Mother? This is fucking fantastic, so much better than Deucalion,” Stiles said. 

“She’s not the actual mother of death, Stiles. Just like Deucalion isn't actually a demon,” he said. 

“Take it off,” Vic said to Hal. 

Hal didn’t hesitate. He reached back and dragged the sweater over his head standing up so the high backed chair wasn’t in the way. 

“I think he might be bigger than the twins,” Stiles whispered to him, then cocked his head to the side, narrowing his eyes like it would help him decide better. 

“Hal’s family is Irish and Scottish. A lot of the guys are, I am. We all have tattoos like this,” Vic said. “The woman in the middle here, she’s Liath Luachra, part of the Fianna. Stories about a warrior in Ireland. The Morrigan is this tattoo over here, the crow and the coyote, all part of the stories.” 

“But The Morrigan is kind of like Santa Claus, she’s been appropriated by everyone. Goth kids, witches, cartoons, T.V. shows. Everybody has a version of The Morrigan,” Hal said.

“Like the Werewolf mythos, everyone has a really great story, but no one thinks it’s real.” Then Stiles asked, “Maybe we should call Lydia?” 

“No. We can’t tell Lydia anything,” he said. ”We have to keep this between us, and figure it out on our own.” 

“You think she’s that dangerous,” Stiles asked.

“Yes, because the Mother of Death means something, just like the Demon Wolf does,” Derek answered. “C’mon Stiles, lets see what we can find. Patrick, Cora?”

They got up to follow, heading to the living room where Patrick’s laptop was already set up. Stiles got his out and they began compiling information. Vic and Hal went to get dinner from the restaurant next door. 

Eventually Cora found a website for modern day druids that reported a connection with The Morrigan, and claimed certain people could call her, be favored. It sounded far fetched, but Stiles said it sounded promising. 

“I think we can talk to her, if this is right, but it has to be someone human. I think what this page says about it being someone she can relate to, someone who knows death. I think I can do it --” Stiles started to say. 

“No,” Vic said.”Someone who knows death means someone who has died.”

“I sort of died,” Stiles said. 

“I did die,” Vic said. 

“Wait, when?” Cora asked, surprised. 

“When I was sixteen. I drown,” Vic said, far too casually. 

“She jumped off a cliff, into the river and hit her head on the way down,” Hal said, his large voice suddenly quiet. 

Dangerous tension gathered around Vic, her arms crossed and her expression went dark. She got up abruptly and made her way to the front door of the lodge. 

“I’m going to the bar, don’t wait up.” Vic said before closing the door behind her. 

“I remember The Morrigan being described as the Mother of all Shapeshifters. Maybe she is the one that made all you?” Hal suggested. 

“What was that?” Derek asked Hal, unwilling to ignore whatever was going on between them anymore. 

Discomfort and nervousness played across Hal’s face as he clenched his hands and squeezed his fingers. “I shouldn’t have said anything, I’m sorry,” Hal said. 

“That’s probably true, but I still want an explanation,” he demanded. 

“Derek,” Cora said quietly. 

Hal looked over at Cora, maybe hoping for some help, but he wasn’t letting this go. If Hal had done something to Vic, even if it was fifteen years ago, he was going to make sure the score was even before they did anything else. He could drive just as easily as Hal. 

“We were swimming together at night. I jumped off the cliff and Vic followed me. I pulled her out of the river and got her breathing again, but where she hit her head -- It took her a long time to get better. She was in the hospital for a while,” Hal said. 

Derek didn’t believe that was the whole story, and he wasn't going to take Hal’s word for it. He left to find Vic at the bar, but when he closed the door he saw her sitting in the front seat of the van, smoking a joint. 

“He told you?” Vic asked. 

“He said he saved you from drowning,” he said. 

“Figures,” Vic said, waving him over to sit in the van instead of standing in the snow. 

When he closed the door she continued, “He did a lot more than pull my sorry ass out.” Vic offered him the joint, but he declined. He had never known her to smoke on a job before. “I talked him into it, browbeat him into it actually. He was taller than me back then, just barely, but man was he skinny. Too quiet, didn’t leave the house much, you know the type.” 

Vic took a heavy drag off the joint and pinched it, putting the ember out before she dropped it on the dash. “I busted my head open. I had forty stitches in my scalp. He resuscitated me then carried me back to the truck. I don't know how to this day. I had fifty pounds on him easy, but he did it. Then he came to the hospital and took care of me everyday until I ran him off like an asshole.” 

He wasn’t sure what to do with the new information, but he wasn’t ready to believe Hal was an innocent victim of Vic’s frustration and anger. 

“Since then we’ve done this thing where I’m an asshole to him, and he’s an asshole to me. We both say and do the shit we know will piss each other off the most, but he doesn’t really want to. He just takes what he can get from me, which pisses me off even more, because he should have told me to fuck off years ago. He has no self respect.” 

A lack of self respect wasn’t something he could hate. Vic expected him to commiserate, to be on her side, but he had too much experience being on Hal’s side to be fooled. 

“You’re better than this bullshit.” 

His new mission was to extract himself from shit that wasn’t his business, and get upstairs to shower and try to sleep without yelling at, or hurting anyone on the way. Cora was waiting for him at the door, but she backed off as soon as she got a good look at him. Stiles and Hal were sitting at the dining room table talking quietly. 

“Go talk to her, and stop playing along with her shit,” he said to Hal. 

No one followed him. He stripped down, turned the water to scalding hot, then got in the shower. He turned the temperature down to the edge of discomfort. Assumptions were getting the better of him. The expectation that Vic was somehow beyond making choices like that was unrealistic to say the least. Vic had a handful of of years on him, but for the majority of her life she had been a normal human being, with a moderately normal life. 

Trying to protect Vic was laughable. She didn’t need protecting. Sometimes she needed help, but he was making an ass out of himself every time he intervened. He was trying to be what he thought she needed him to be, instead of simply being her friend. Over reacting, and overreaching as he tried to adapt to the shit life threw at him was how he fucked things up so many times before. He imagined Hal was the same. His hugeness was probably a response to feeling weak and helpless when Vic needed him. 

Comparing himself to someone he decided so quickly he hated, only to find they had a startling number of personality traits in common, was not doing his own sense of self worth any good. He finished his shower, put on sweatpants and a tee shirt, then laid down in the large, comfortable bed, determined to pull everything into perspective and be clear headed for tomorrow. 

Tolerance wasn’t his strong suit, but Cora was different. He was relieved to hear her footsteps fall on the stairs, the only person besides himself that avoided the creaky step. She got up on the bed and laid her head down near his. 

“That was really nice of you,” Cora said. 

“How was any of that nice?” Derek asked, having no idea how Cora could jump to that conclusion. 

“It was, even if it didn’t look like it.” 

“How enigmatic of you,” he said. 

“I’d explain it to you if I thought you cared,” Cora laughed, knowing he didn't. 

“Do you think this is worth it? Whatever we find out there?” he asked. 

“Did you really think this trip was going to be easy?” Cora asked. 

“I think I wasn’t paying enough attention to the facts.” 

“Maybe, but you were paying attention to the right parts. Vic took care of the rest.”

“Now I need to catch up to you guys. I don’t even know why we’re here.” 

“We have a problem,and a responsibility to make sure no one else dies because of it.” Cora understood the point, the one that never let up on them. 

Trusting her was easy. She made things easy to understand. He had been holding on to something that belonged to her for a few days now. Just in case anything happened to him, she needed to have it before then. 

A plain blue folder was crushed under everything in his bag. It was wrinkled and creased after being manhandled all day, but the contents were safe. 

“This is your’s." He handed her the folder. "You were supposed to get it on your eighteenth birthday according to mom and dad, but I'm in charge now, and I don't think that matters anymore.” 

Cora opened it and looked over the contents. Nervousness played over her face as she looked for the works she wanted. 

“I don’t need this. I don’t want all this money,” she said. 

“This is yours, I’m not giving it to you, it belongs to you. If you give me back the folder, I don't get it back. You can ignore it, I'll keep paying for everything. I don't care, but it's yours to decide what to do with,” he explained. 

“Oh,” she said. "Leo Selure, that's Vic's brother. He's the financial manager?" 

"Leo tracked everything down for us, got the insurance and estate worked out. Peter took his third in bearer bonds, if you can believe that." 

"I can, that sounds like something Peter would do." 

"Laura and I kept everything together, but that's your half now. I'm still not ready for my part, but I always felt like I had to ask her before I did anything with it. I'm sure that was a good idea for me, but I don't think I can help you that way," Derek said. 

"You have just as much?" Cora asked, beginning to understand. 

"Yes, I had Leo split everything. It was all in my name after Laura died, so all I had to do was ask." 

“What am I supposed to do with it?” 

There wasn’t any actual confusion, just shock. It was like a series of bombs that kept going off every time you looked at the end numbers. He remembered that feeling well. 

“You can have any life you want. You don’t have to stay with me, you can be whoever you want to be, wherever you want to be.” 

He gave her the choice because no one had ever said it to him. He understood why Laura kept him close, but being told he could change his life, be something else if he wanted to, might have changed a lot of the choices he had made in the last few years. 

“I don’t want to be away from you,” Cora said. 

Dropping the folder on the bed, she made her choice, for the moment. She was too loyal to turn tail and run, but she wanted to stay because she loved him. He loved her, that’s why he had to give her the choice. When she was ready to go, or if she had to, she would have something to help keep her safe.

He fell back into the bed and Cora dropped the folder on the bedside table. They talked about the family for a while, all the things they never knew about their parents, and their life until they were gone, and he answered a few questions she had about what else they had, and where it was. They drifted off until Stiles came up and Cora left. 

The next morning he was the first to wake up. The house was quiet as he checked on everyone, Vic was sleeping in her bed, and Hal was asleep in the chair next to her. Breakfast was the only thing he was passable at making, so he broke out the groceries Vic picked up the day before and made huge plates full of pancakes and eggs. Stiles woke up and insisted they had to have bacon, and that woke up everyone else.   
“I got peanut butter yesterday, where is it?” Vic reached over his shoulder and opened the cupboard above his head. 

“I have it,” Stiles said. He was covering his pancakes with it, just like Vic did. “I’ll bring it to you when I’m done.” 

“Thanks!” Vic smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck and chest from his side, awkwardly. She kissed the side of his head, then rested her chin on his shoulder. “I can’t believe you’re letting me do this,” she said, meaning the prolonged, slightly annoying, hug. 

“I’m making you pancakes and you think it’s crazy I’m letting you hug me?” he asked, smiling at the silly face she made. 

“I love you,” she said, moving her arms around his chest and hugging him again, more genuinely. 

“I love you too,” he said, reaching up to hold the arm around his chest. 

A moment later she was gone, mixing in with the chaos behind him. It slowly subsided as everyone sat with their plates. He brought the last of the pancakes out, Stiles had set him a place and loaded his plate with everything but pancakes. He served Vic and Patrick, then sat down and waited for the condiments and napkins to eventually make their way to him. 

a large family table was something he didn’t know he missed. He listened to all the conversations going on at the same time, people struggling to understand each other while keeping track of two conversations at once. Stiles and Vic argued around him over nonsense; baseball players that weren’t even in the season line up yet.

The drive back up to the trailhead was silent. Stiles held his hand and fidgeted nervously, checking his gun holster every few seconds, as well as the short range earpieces they had decided to use this time. He squeezed Stiles’ hand, trying to reassure him everything would be fine. He hoped everything would be fine. 

Once they parked and made sure the trail was deserted, they geared up, everyone except Vic. She paced near the Van, her hands clasped behind her neck. 

“Have you changed your mind?” He asked bluntly as he pulled on his shoulder pack. 

She didn’t answer or look at him at first. Instead, she stretched and took a few deep breaths. 

“I don’t change my mind,” She said quietly, patting him on the back twice, hard. 

Hal helped her into her jacket and gear, and they started up the hill, leading the group. As they closed in on the lake he and Vic took the lead, going to the site of the foundation stones. They were her before, he just found the pendant when the woman showed up. He didn't feel anything like he had the day before. There was no eerie feeling like someone was watching him. 

“Let’s not fuck around. I’ll do this thing, and we can go,” Vic held on to his arm, her hands trembling nervously. 

“You don’t have to, we can walk away right now,” he said, hoping she might agree.

“No,” Vic said, her eyes darting wildly across the still water of the lake. “I’m getting ready, everyone armed?” Vic asked everyone. 

Hal was positioned behind him, resting a fifty caliber sniper rifle against a tree trunk that was so big, he was thankful Hal liked him today. Patrick was in a similar position with his pistol drawn, closer to Vic. Stiles and Cora waited, further away like they agreed to. 

Vic’s fingers tapped nervously against her leg as she made her way to the waters edge. The ground never dried, especially closer to the Lake. Her boots sunk further in every step closer until she was standing in mud. His fingers sunk into the muddy dirt as he prepared himself to lunge forward at the slightest sign of danger. 

Short, broken Gaelic whispered through Vic’s lips. She didn’t have the paper with her, memorizing it meant there could be mistakes. He watched her intently, taking in her deep breaths and the tension that gathered around her shoulders. She moved suddenly, making him flinch, but she was only tugging at the wrists of her jacket, tossing it on the ground as she continued on with the invocation. 

The recitation stopped abruptly. She took a step toward the water as something bubbled on the surface. The words picked up again but her voice was different, more certain. He watched the spot on the lake where the bubbles surfaced, waiting. Vic slowed down, her words trailing off as she took another step closer to the lake. Vic turned her head, like she was listening to the lake, but her eyes darted across the ground aimlessly. 

She looked over her shoulder for him. Panic spread through his chest when her eyes caught him, the muscles tightening in his arms as he prepared to lunge toward her. She turned away, her powerful legs launching her forward as she raced toward the water. He yelled her name, running, reaching out for her. She was too far ahead of him. She lifted her arms and dove in, head first. 

Disappearing under the shining black surface, he missed her by inches. The only evidence of her were ripples lapping at his legs. He kept running, the water dragging at his pants until he accidentally stepped off the rock Vic had dived off of. He fell into the freezing cold water, opening his eyes against the icy pain to look for her, but the water was dark and black. Cora’s hand grabbed at his wrist, dragging him back, he fought against her for a moment then let her help him back up. 

“Hal, flashlight!” he shouted. 

A faint tremble reverberated through the water. Cora held her hands out, silently telling him to stay quiet. They felt it again, stronger and he held his hand up for everyone to be quiet. Tiny ripples expanded through the water as the ground beneath them echoed like a slow heartbeat. 

“I saw something,” Cora said, pointing out to the water. 

He dove in again, searching with his hands, eyes open. A long tendril of hair snaked it’s way through his peripheral vision. It was deep, he could barely see it. Diving deeper into the murky blackness, he reached out blind. His hand felt fabric. He pulled hard, dragging whatever it was up to the surface. 

Shouting and fighting at the edge of the lake registered in his mind for a fleeting second as he struggled to turn Vic over. Her face was slack and her eyes were closed, her head hung back at an uncomfortable angle. He shouted her name as Cora yelled at him to come closer. He pushed Vic through the water toward Cora as Hal came barrelling through the water behind her. 

Stopping Hal was something Stiles seemed to be trying to do, but he wasn’t sure why. Cora shouted his name as his muscles began to seize and tremble from the cold. 

“Derek, please,” Cora pointed out to the water. 

Another figure was floating behind him. He wasn’t sure if he could swim her back in the cold, so he held on to Cora’s hand and reached out. His fingers closed around a foot and Cora dragged them back. Cora pushed him back to shore, his legs and arms refusing to work correctly until he was mostly out of the water. 

On shore Hal was counting slowly. Patrick pushed past him as he dragged himself out of the water and fell to his knees. Hal was still counting, his voice frantic. He forced himself to look at Hal as his vision clouded, he needed something. He wasn’t in the right place. The mud was colder still than his aching skin. 

“Derek!,” Stiles shouted. “Please, do not do this right now. We need you. We aren’t getting down off this mountain without someone dying if you don’t get up right now.” 

Stiles shook him as someone pulled his cold, wet sweater off. 

“Derek, get up now,” Stiles said again. 

The freezing cold was coming from inside him. His body shivered uncontrollably and he sat up, clinging to Stiles as he picked Derek up off the ground. On his feet it felt worse, but it was just the pain as his muscles heated and repaired themselves too quickly. If he had time he would slow it down, but he could ignore the pain as long as he could move. 

“I got it. I’m okay,” he said. 

Stiles let him go and took off his jacket, pushing his hands through the arms and zipping it up around him. Then he was gone. 

“Derek, follow me,” Stiles said. 

Long, white legs were draped over Stiles’ arm, Cora was close to him. He followed as they made their way back down the trail. The slope of Stiles’ shoulders gave away how much he struggled on the uneven path. His feet and legs felt normal, but he was aware of how unsteady the world was. 

He reached out for Stiles and stopped him, taking the girl from his arms. Stiles argued loudly until he turned around and kept walking down the trail. Then Stiles held him steady over rough patches, leaning into him heavily as he kept moving forward. A few minutes later his legs worked easier and by the time they got to the steep part of the trail both he and Cora were almost as fast as Stiles. 

The van was waiting as far into the trail as it could go, Patrick sat in the drivers seat. Everyone was shouting as he rushed to the van. Stiles and Cora took the girl from his arms and slid her across the floor of the van, next to Vic. He stumbled into the door, putting his hand on Vic’s throat to feel a heartbeat. There was a faint pulse, but it was too slow. Stiles was shouting and pushing, trying to move him to the front seat where the heater was. He did what Stiles asked him to, but he didn’t take his eyes off Vic for a moment longer than he absolutely had to. 

Momentum threw him against the inside of the door as Patrick turned quickly. He reached out and wrapped his arm around the side of the seat to keep himself steady as he twisted around to keep an eye on Vic. The girl opened her eyes with a start, gaelic words came out of her, she was coughing, terrified. She stopped as soon as she saw Vic laying next to her. Derek lunged for her as she laid a hand on Vic's face. The van swerved as he hit Patrick, then he was bouncing off the dash as the van came to a halt. 

A wall of noise assaulted him as everyone scrambled to figure out what had happened. He lifted Vic off the girl by her arm, trying to get them away from each other. She was pulled away from him as Hal lifted her on to the seat and into his lap. Stiles looked the girl over and told Patrick to keep going. Vic blinked and he called out to her. She opened her eyes and reached out toward the girl. Hal talked to her, trying to tell her what happened, but Vic was fixated on the girl. 

She pushed Hal away and climbed to the floor of the van, she searched the girl over and looked up at him. She was fine, Vic's skin was pale and she was shivering, but her eyes were sharp and alive. 

"Patrick, stop the van," Vic said. 

Patrick swerved through the empty road as he caught sight of Vic. He righted the steering wheel, swearing loudly as he came to a stop in the middle of the road. 

"Go back to the lodge, we can't take her to the hospital,” she said. 

"What is she?" Stiles asked. 

"Just a banshee, that's all."

The van sputtered to a stop at the front door of their lodge. They got out quietly, trying their best to not draw too much attention to themselves in the daylight. Hal brought the girl in and put her in Vic’s bed. 

“Patrick, Stiles, unload the van. Get everything inside just in case someone saw us.” Derek followed Vic into her room and shut the door. 

“You said she’s a banshee? What the hell is going on?” he asked. 

“I’m not sure, we need to take a beat, look at this when we aren’t terrified,” Vic said. 

“I’m not terrified,” he said. 

“No, you just want to know if you should kill it or not, right?” Vic illustrated her point. 

“Fine, what about you then? Are you okay, what the hell was that?” he asked. 

“I don’t know, you need to take care of yourself, and check on your sister.” Vic dropped her blanket in favor of the robe on the back of her door. “I’m okay, I don’t know how, but I feel fine besides being fucking cold.” 

Demands weren’t going to work on her, her heartbeat was steady, unshaken. She wasn’t concerned about any of it. The chair groaned loudly as Vic told Hal to sit down and began unlacing his water logged boots. Hal slumped in the chair exhausted and defeated. It reminded him Stiles and Cora might not be okay, Stiles especially could be half dead on his feet and still pushing himself to keep going until the crisis was over. 

Nothing felt over, but the most immediate danger was apparently behind them. Stiles was loading the washing machine with clothing and blankets that smelled like the muddy lake. 

“Is she okay?” Stiles asked.

“I don’t know, I didn't want to leave her alone in there, but she says she’s fine. She’s no worse off that you seem to be.” Derek brushed a spot of darkness off Stiles neck and jaw, making sure it was only mud. 

“I want a hot shower, and enough food to feed an army, but there’s nothing wrong with me that wasn’t there before.” Stiles sighed and pushed the controls on the washing machine to get it started. “Do you think she is a banshee?”

Derek shook his head, not knowing and not wanting to guess. 

“You were right, she looks like Lydia,” Stiles stared at the controls on the washing machine for a moment then guided him out the door and up the stairs to their room. 

***

The pizza Stiles ordered immediately changed the general atmosphere of the house from tense and pacing outside Vic’s room, to starving and ready to sit and eat. Removing Hal from Vic’s room required Cora and Derek both promising to stay vigilant and listen. Vic asked for a few slices, choosing to sit on the end of the bed and watch television, standing guard over the girl like she had been doing since they got back. 

“I got her to take a shower, but that’s as far away as she’s been since we got back,” Hal looked over his shoulder toward Vic’s open door. 

Hal had cleaned up as well, choosing to forego his usual multiple layers of clothing for just a pair of board shorts. Dozens of intricately connected tattoos covered his arms, chest and back. He had more inked skin than clean. With his shaggy hair pulled back, he looked young, not so much terrifying mountain man. Even though he still loomed over the table like a monolith of human, Stiles found him much easier to talk to. 

“Has anyone asked her why she did it?” Stiles asked, looking at Hal and Cora. 

“She said she just knew, that she had to sacrifice herself to break the girl free. I asked why, or how she knew that, but she said it didn’t matter,” Cora said. 

Unanimous irritated sighs came from both sides of him. Derek and Hal both dropped their food and brought their hands up to their faces, but neither of them noticed the other doing it. Cora met his eyes, then turned to Hal as he ran a hand down Derek’s arm. Derek glanced over, acknowledging him, but that was all he was going to get. Unlike Cora, who got Hal’s undivided attention. Her hand rested on Hal’s arm, keeping his attention focused. 

“Did she say anything else to you?” Cora asked. 

Concern wrinkled Hal’s face as he thought about what he was going to say, he looked over his shoulder again then back at Cora nervously. 

“Sometimes Vic knows things, like when bad things might happen, or where to find certain people. She used to have nightmares about things that were going to happen, when we were kids, but after the accident she never said anything about it again. Not until Leo locked her up in psych. I had to go get her out. He doesn’t believe in any of this stuff. He pretends he doesn’t notice because he’s a fucking coward.,” Hal said. 

“He does this weird thing where he tells a story and acts like what he’s telling you is perfectly normal. Then, when you ask how it was possible, or that it was crazy, or remarkable, he lists off a bunch of facts about regular human beings doing crazy shit. Things like lifting trucks, or tattooing their whole body like a cheetah,” Patrick said. 

“Some people can’t handle it,” Stiles said. “Not everyone can take a seat and ask the werewolf next to them how life is after they find out.” 

Whatever Leo did or did not do, Stiles couldn’t fault anyone for not being able to handle it. Having been on the brink of cracking dozens of times in the last few months, he knew how terrifying it could be. Patrick nodded, looking like he wanted to say more. 

“Hal, what else did Vic say?” Stiles asked, bringing them back to the point. 

“That’s the thing, she wasn’t talking to me. I don’t think she was. She was speaking Gaelic. Not much, but she was talking to the girl, whatever she said,” Hal said. 

“The girl, when we pulled her out and Patrick got her breathing again, she said something didn’t she?” Cora looked to Patrick for confirmation. 

“It was weird, it sounded like ma kay lee or ma see lee, I’m not sure,” Patrick confirmed. 

“MacCéile?” Stiles asked, hoping his hunch was completely and entirely wrong. 

“Yeah, just like that.” Patrick nodded, surprised he knew just what it was. “What does it mean?” 

“MacCéile is the irish root of the Hale family name. It was MacCéile, then Mac Kheal, then Mac Hale, or McHale. When your family came over they probably did what a thousand Irish families did and dropped the Mc,” Stiles said, looking to Cora and Derek. 

Derek held his hands folded, over his mouth. His expression was unreadable beyond the scowl. “I’m going to go talk to her.” Derek took two beers out of the refrigerator before heading to Vic’s room. 

After working next to Hal for the longest few minutes of his life, trying to bring Vic back to life, he knew a little about how Hal felt. It was like a nightmare in slow motion as they dragged her, lifeless and frozen, away from the mud so they could do chest compressions. Hal knew exactly what to do. Stiles couldn’t imagine doing that alone, and having to do it a second time. If it was him, it would be tearing him up inside. Mostly, he would be profoundly angry, with Vic. 

“Hal, do you want a beer?” he asked. 

Hal nodded, Cora took their plates and got him a beer before leaving with Patrick into the living room. They were putting on a movie, something Patrick swore Cora would like, but they sat on a small couch closest to Vic’s door. 

“You need to get out of here for a while? There’s a bar down the road, and I have this ID,” Stiles asked, holding his hands up, hoping Hal would think it was funny at least. 

Declining his offer, Hal shook his head and kept his eyes fixed on the table. Any moment he was going to start peeling the label off his beer. 

“I’d be really fucking mad at her if I was you.” Stiles was taking a shot in the dark, and it was probably something he should stay out of, but it was too hard to watch and not say anything. 

Hal looked up at him, a deep scowl making his eyes look dark. Stiles gave it a minute, let Hal think about it more before blurting anything useless and nervous at him, like he wanted to. Hal put his beer down and scrubbed his face with his hands, like he was trying to wake up. 

“Mad doesn’t begin to cover it,” Hal said. 

“I wouldn’t take that to her till later, but yeah. What she did was reckless, and fucked up. Especially if she knew anything ahead of time,” Stiles said. 

“We would have talked her out of it, or tried. She might have gone up there by herself,” Hal pointed out. 

“True, but we might have been able to figure something else out. I was a proxy sacrifice not long ago, but there was this whole ‘darkness around your heart’ thing that might still be the worst decision I’ve ever made in my life, but the risk was... less than -- you know, either way its just a big fucking bag of bullshit. All of it fucking sucks.” 

“You guys do this stuff a lot?” Hal asked, slightly harrowed, but taking it in stride. 

“You guys don’t?” he asked. 

“No, we shoot things, and sometimes we have to bury things, or cut off their heads, but mostly we just catch regular human criminals.” 

“Sounds incredibly violent.” 

“When I was your age I was sitting behind a computer playing World of Warcraft, now I engineer tactical weaponry to incapacitate or kill supernatural creatures, and sometimes I drive. If you have a problem with the violence, you better quit now, because you’re well on your way.” 

Trying to give Hal a nudge in a better direction backfired, at least it felt that way. Hal admitted he was angry, which is a lot more that Stiles suspected he ever did before, but the sting of Hal’s words still hung on him. The violence, chaos, and constant threat of pain and death was the part he ignored. He pretended like it didn’t exist, until it was right in front of him, and he had to deal with it. Someday he would have to find a better way, learn to fight, or figure how to never have to again. 

“How do you think that girl was in the lake?” Hal asked, interrupting his internal crisis. 

“I’m not sure, but you know, banshees have this whole washer woman, water connection. If the Morrigan has anything to do with it still, if she is her, there’s a lot of evidence she can shapeshift. She could have been something different, like a fish. She also could have been trapped somehow. Hopefully not by Derek’s family, because then she might be really pissed.” Stiles got himself a beer, and picked up two more, handing one to Hal. 

If the girl passed out in Vic’s room was anything like Lydia Martin, as well as looking like her, he wasn’t sure he wanted to be anywhere nearby when she woke up. What he just told Hal, had the distinct possibility of being true. Derek’s family was strange, and twisted, far more than Derek probably realized. He wouldn’t put it past them to trap a banshee at the bottom of a lake somehow, not for a second. 

“Enjoy that,” Stiles said as he chugged the rest of his first and popped the top of the second. “If she is a banshee, and she wakes up angry, it might be the last one you ever have.” 

***

“How did you know that about my last name?” he asked Stiles. 

They were supposed to be sleeping, but they were both still awake. He laid there waiting for Stiles to fall asleep until he could almost hear the gears still moving in Stiles’ head. 

“You know how many times I’ve had to google shit about the Hale family?” Stiles scoffed. “It was a genuine pastime there for a while.” 

“Don’t google things anymore, it could draw the wrong kind of attention. Ask me first.” 

“You have no idea how careful I am now, don't worry,” Stiles promised him. “Does Vic seem a little too zen to you?” 

“A little? I don't know if it;s the girl, or the dying and being brought back for a second time apparently... Sometimes I want to punch something just because of the shit that comes out of my mouth when I describe my life.” 

“Everyday, babe, everyday.” 

“What’s up with Cora and Patrick?” 

“Why would I know?” 

“I thought Patrick might talk to you.” 

“You should just ask her. I don’t think there’s much of anything though. I think she doesn’t notice him nearly as much as he notices her.” 

“We should stop talking about the shit I’m worried about, or we’ll be here all night.” 

Derek stretched his arm out over his head and tucked it behind his pillow when a wandering hand pushed past the waistband of his boxers. He closed his eyes, drawing in a sharp, short breath as Stiles’ hand found what it was looking for. 

“Remember earlier, when we were in the shower, and you did this to me?” Stiles asked. 

Derek nodded, pulling Stiles closer so he was everything, so Derek didn't have to see anything else, remember where they were, or why, for at least a few minutes. 

“I wasn’t worried about anything for a while after that,” Stiles smiled down at him.

“I remember,” Derek grinned back. 

Cold air snuck into their blankets as Stiles moved over him, straddling his hips. A kiss stopped him from making much noise as his rhythmic movements created a moment of euphoria. 

“Oh god, do that again,” Derek whispered against Stiles lips. 

“Are you sure?” Stiles asked playfully, his long fingers trailing up Derek’s neck, sliding over the tight tendons under his jaw. 

“Yes.”


	12. Heartlines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “In one breath, I could destroy you.”

“What is In-N-Out?” Patrick asked. 

“It’s a burger place, all over California.” Stiles answered. 

“It’s not just a ‘burger place’,” he corrected. ”It’s the best burger place, ever.” 

Derek’s absolute loyalty to In-N-Out came before he and Laura were stuck in the desert for weeks on end. But after, he had dreams about those burgers during the worst of it. They had to go places to restock and refuel, sometimes they would stay in a city for a few days, but they would never stay in a place too small to have an In-N-Out. 

"We should stop by Burgerville on the way out, I think they might give in-n-out a run for the money," Patrick said, but no one was particularly enthusiastic about it but him. 

The road was familiar to them by now, this was the third time in three days they had visited Hidden Lake. No one else was parked at the trailhead. They didn’t expect any visitors, dark storm clouds had rolled in overnight. Vic insisted they had to go back and retrieve the things they left behind during the rush to get out. No one thought they lost anything important, but they had to be sure. 

They made good time loading out and heading up. The terrain was familiar and the trail was short. The temperature was dropping rapidly, the lake was beginning to freeze around the edges. The ground beneath his feet cracked and popped as searched the ground. 

“Derek, help me move this,” Vic asked, pushing against a large rock that was part of the old stone foundation. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, rushing to help her before she gave him an explanation. 

The heavy grey rock broke as he pulled it out of the nearly buried foundation wall. Vic pulled away a few rocks and motioned for his help again when they reached another large one. He strained against it and it broke free. Vic found the corner of something square and pulled up, unearthing a small box. 

“I had a dream last night,” Vic said, looking at the box in her hands. “I didn’t expect it to actually be there, but if this is true, I think I need to tell you a few things.”

“Hey, look what I found.” Stiles handed Vic the red stone pendant, then Vic passed the box to Stiles. 

Stiles looked at him like he was supposed to know why Vic handed it to him, or what it was, but he didn’t know. Vic was searching her pockets for something, holding the red pendant tight in her hand. Stiles turned the box over, brushing off the debris. He tried to pry it open, but it wouldn’t budge. Stiles handed it over for him to try. 

Beveling on the edge of the box gave him a different idea. He slid the top to the right and it popped open. Stiles smiled, pleased with his deductive skills. The contents of the box looked old, but they weren’t remarkable. A few rocks, a rosary, and some photographs. Vic took the box and closed it, putting it in her backpack. Stiles said the lake was clear. He had everything they left behind, most of it half frozen wet clothing, in a bag. 

Wind howled through the trees around them. The storm building up wouldn’t be their problem, as long as they got on the road in the next few minutes. 

“What were you going to tell me,” he asked Vic. 

“Oh, right. I don’t think she had anything to do with those werewolf deaths. I can’t say about anything else, but I saw pretty vividly last night your old friend Julia making a misguided attempt to raise her from the lake by sacrificing the werewolves,” Vic rattled off the information like it was coordinates or a grocery list. 

“How was it misguided?” Stiles asked, looking at him for confirmation that Vic’s attitude and demeanor seemed strange, emotionless. 

“She is the mother of shapeshifters, killing her children only made her angry. She punished Julia, but she couldn’t stop her or kill her, because she was still trapped,” Vic continued, looking up at the heavy storm clouds like they were far more pressing than the story she was telling. 

Suddenly Vic tripped and fell, she landed on her elbow and shoulder painfully. Derek helped her back up and looked at the small patch of broken skin on her elbow. 

“I’m okay, geez, that was clumsy,” Vic laughed at herself. She brushed off her shoulder and kept walking. 

“Okay, this is fucking weird. Am I right?” Stiles asked. 

“Yes, but what do I say to her? ‘Gee Vic, you don't seem to be angry, or snarky, not near your usual level of self depreciating hate for the world, wanna talk about it?’ Maybe almost dying again damaged her brain, but we won’t know until we can get her to a hospital,” he said. 

“Her brain is not damaged. One, she probably wasn’t without oxygen for long enough. Two, she’s still smart. Oxygen deprivation doesn’t specifically target certain feelings. She’s smiling, talking, protective. She’s feeling shit, but she’s not herself. Whatever that girl did to her, changed her. I don’t think a hospital can fix that,” Stiles said. 

Back at the van Hal was waiting for them. He walked to Vic and asked about her arm, then took the bag of wet clothes from Stiles. Vic checked on the girl before she did anything else. They had her wrapped up in blankets on the floor of the van, just like the day before. The girl looked like she was sleeping still. Vic seemed satisfied so he asked if everyone was ready to go. 

“You gave me that pendant didn’t you?” Vic asked Stiles. 

“Yeah, but I didn’t see what you did with it,” Stiles answered. 

“I put it in my pocket,” Vic ran her hand through the front pocket of her pants, coming up empty. 

Frantically checking every pocket, turning out her bag, she came up empty again. Stiles searched through his pockets, then turned to look in the van. Derek looked all around the ground where Vic had been. None of them saw it anywhere. Stiles went to the back to look through the bag they brought back, just in case.

“It’s important? I’ll go look on the trail. It’ll only take me a minute. I’ll be back before we’re ready to go,” he said to Vic. 

“It is important,” She answered honestly. 

“I’ll be back in a minute,” he promised. 

 

***

“I’m sorry, I have no idea what happened to it. Any luck Derek?” he yelled into the van, not looking up. 

“Derek left to go look at the lake,” Patrick said. 

“Oh, well, yeah I guess Vic might have dropped it.” 

Anxiousness creeped over his skin. He looked up, searching around them for anything that might be making his spider senses tingle. Heaviness permeated the air suddenly. He closed the back door of the van and walked around to Vic’s door. A question began to form in his mind, but he was unsure exactly what the question was. She stared back at him, the same concern on her face. She felt something odd as well. 

“He’s alone!” she said, her eyes wide. 

The dream that started this whole thing, Derek alone out in the woods. He took off , running as fast he could toward the trailhead. His feet were taking him somewhere. His brain was a step behind still. 

Once he got to the peak of the trail, the highest place before the lake, he stopped. Derek was up on the trail ahead, probably at the lake already. Derek might be too far away to hear him if he shouted, and he didn't know when the other wolves were coming. Making a bunch of noise could just get them killed faster.

He did know where they met Derek, out in the woods, sort of. A gut feeling pulled him in the direction of a faint deer path that split off the trail ahead. He paced, shaking his hands as dread made his stomach churn. He was fucking crazy. He couldn’t run out in to woods he didn’t know, with a storm coming, on a fucking hunch. He might be the only chance Derek had to get out of it alive. 

Tree branches stung his face and arms as he ran down the hill, at the bottom he found the deer trail. He ran down the path toward something, he wasn’t sure what, but he just kept running. His eyes adapted to the darkness of the dense forest. He slowed down, feeling like he had seen this part of the path before. 

Derek ran across the path far ahead of him, to far for him to catch up before the werewolves showed up, if this was the first time he had run across the path. Stiles ducked behind a tree, sliding down to the ground, being as quiet as possible. He wanted to scream, warn Derek, but he already knew he was being pursued. 

At least he was in the right fucking place, in the grand scheme of things, it could be a lot worse. He remembered his gun, he had gotten so used to wearing it, he had almost forgotten about it. He quietly pulled it out of it’s holster and swore at himself a few times in his own head for coming up with the ballsiest, dumbest plan in the whole fucking world. He was going to die. He took a deep breath, putting on his darkest game face. He couldn’t be a stupid kid, he had to be a scary asshole. He remembered how to do that. 

Edging out from behind the tree, he saw a flash of denim through the trees. They were here. They were too busy stalking Derek, to realize he was there. There were only three of them. One turned to look behind them, he froze, then said a prayer to whatever was listening and fired a warning shot into the ground.

In the space of a breath, he had an audience. He held their undivided attention with what he hoped they saw; a tall young hunter with a hard, fearless expression. He let himself feel how angry he was, the rage came bubbling to the surface faster and easier than he thought it would. He let it bristle on his skin before he spoke. 

“We’re here with the permission of your Alpha, there better be a damn good reason for stalking my partner over there, or none of you are leaving this forest alive.” His voice was foreign, deep, and dripping with murderous promise.

All he wanted was to fill them full of bullets. Remembering his dream, what they did to Derek, not emptying the clip into their faces took all his self control. The werewolves were wolfed out, eyes glowing, but the one in front stepped forward slowly. 

He maintained his defensive posture, but straightened himself to speak. “We want the girl, it’s our right. She killed our brothers.” 

“She didn’t kill your brothers, but the werewolf you’re chasing down like a dog? He helped kill what did.” Stiles spoke slowly and loudly, so the whole forest could hear. Werewolves could sense the truth, and he had an abundance of it. 

A faint thud behind him announced Derek, relenting his position of power above them. Stiles didn’t turn to look, he kept his eyes and weapon trained on the werewolves, exactly like he imagined a seasoned hunter like Chris Argent would. 

“You killed it?” the first werewolf asked Derek. 

“I was there. She’s dead,” Derek said, clarifying the ‘it’ was a person, a woman. 

The werewolves stood slowly, looking at each other for confirmation they believed the story. The momentary expression of defeat and sadness that passed over the youngest one’s face struck a chord. He understood that loss, he saw it on his friends faces all too often. 

Taking his life into his hands in wildly reckless ways again, he lowered his weapon, keeping his finger on the trigger, and walked toward the werewolves, holding his hand up as a peace offering. He shook the first one’s giant, clawed hand firmly and introduced himself. 

“I’m Stiles, and this is Derek,” Stiles said. 

The werewolf relaxed immediately, the animal fading from his face as he spoke, “I’m Arlan, and this is Mike and Junior.”

“Can you tell us what happened? Is the rest of the pack safe?” Junior, the youngest one asked. 

Derek took the lead as diplomatic liaison, trying his best to reassure them that with the removal of the girl from the lake, things should be peaceful at hidden lake, as far as they could tell. Arlan accepted his explanation and offered to guide them back, even though they could have found their own way. 

As they walked back up the deer path, toward the trail to Hidden Lake, his earpiece snapped and popped. He forgot he had it on, it was picking up a signal as they came within range of someone on the team. 

He stopped and called out. "Stiles here, do I have someone?" 

“Status,” Vic said. 

“We’re okay, we’re heading back now, twenty minutes maybe?” he answered. 

“Understood, we’ll be waiting.” Vic didn’t question why it might take them twenty minutes to travel a half a mile, but he wasn’t quite sure how far away they were, or where she was. 

Junior hung back, a few feet away from him. The other had stopped as well, but they were a little further up the trail. He and Junior walked quietly behind the other three listening to Mike tell Derek what they had experienced when the three wolves were killed. 

“Junior right?” he asked, Junior nodded. “Are there three other guys out here with you? I know that sounds like a weird question...” 

“No, just us,” Junior shook his head. They walked along for a few more minutes before Junior skipped a step, then caught up. 

“It used to be six of us.” Junior said, suddenly more interested. “Them they’re talking about, they used to patrol with us. This is our section of the territory.” 

“Do you have any pictures?” he asked, hoping Junior didn’t decide he was too fucking weird, and needed to be dead. 

“Sure I do, one was my Dad,” Junior answered. 

Junior pulled out his phone, when he had found what he wanted, he handed it to Stiles without reservation. 

They stopped for a second so he could look properly. The picture was the other three men he had seen in his dream. They were at a birthday party for a little boy. They were all tucked behind the little boy as he held up a big red fire truck. 

“They were all on the volunteer fire fighting team, that’s my brothers boy,” Junior explained. 

The men were real, happy, and so human in the picture. He wasn’t prepared for the civility and regard Junior showed him in offering this particular image.

In his dream the other three were always in the back, following them like guardians. It was something he hadn’t noticed before, because he hadn’t known to look for it. 

“This is going to sound kinda crazy, and I can’t believe I’m telling you this, but I think they're still out here somehow, protecting this place.” Stiles handed Junior back his phone. 

“I believe it. Sometimes when we’re running I turn around expecting to see him there, because I can still feel him,” Junior said. 

“I almost lost my dad to her too. We lost a lot of people, but my dad made it out. I still feel everyday like it was dumb luck any of us got out alive.” 

“I hear that,” Junior said, nodding gravely. 

The was just ahead of them, they said goodbye to their unlikely allies and walked down the trail together. 

“Hey, what happened to your com?” he asked. 

Derek fished it out of his pocket, what was left of it. “I had to destroy it. We can hear a faint high pitched whine coming off them from at least fifty feet away.” 

“I had mine in, I wasn’t fifty feet away, and they didn’t hear me,” Stiles said, wondering what Derek had seen. 

“I know, I heard it. I knew someone was out there, then I saw them and tried to find you before they did. When you stepped out on the trail I thought for sure they would see you, but you got a shot off first. That changed the conversation, I think.” 

“We see you guys,” Cora’s voice came over the com. 

The van was waiting at the end of the trail, but they weren’t in a hurry this time. 

“C’mon assholes! We’re not idling this piece of shit van for another hour while you guys hold hands and frolic down the trail,” Vic barked into the com. 

Immediately he looked over at Derek, who smiled for a moment like he had heard what Vic said over his ear piece, then picked up his pace. 

“You can hear that too? Why am I asking...” Stiles ran after him.

***

“Jesus christ! I get it, I was in a good mood, I didn’t bake cookies and start talking to animated birds,” Vic snapped at Stiles. 

“We deserve a few jabs at least for putting up with your wildly inappropriate emotional responses the last couple days. Hal especially, he was trapped with you,” Stiles said.

Vic looked at Hal, who shrugged, trying to pretend he hadn’t noticed anything. 

“This is all really funny, but do you know what happened?” he asked. 

“I was feeling like a meat popsicle, then I wasn’t. I felt... good, like everything was fine and none of it mattered except getting shit done and keeping people safe, then that jolt of adrenaline hit and I was me again. That’s all I’ve got,” Vic answered him, turning around in her seat to speak. 

“We need to know more about this,” Derek said, looking over at Stiles for backup. 

“We can always ask her,” Stiles said, pointing at the floor.

The girl was awake, her eyes were open. Her resemblance to Lydia Martin was astounding. The deep blue eyes, were the dead give away. She had a slightly bigger nose that was shaped differently. Her lips had a sharp curve to the top, but everything about her was so much like Lydia, even he would have to look twice. She pulled herself up against the back of Hal’s seat, keeping her eyes fixed on him. 

Vic held her hand out to the girl, Derek tensed as they made contact with each other. The girl flinched, seeing the slight movement of his shoulders as he prepared himself for some new insanity to come pouring out of Vic, but nothing happened. The girl clasped hands with Vic, then let her hand go, folding her arms against herself tightly. 

“She’s cold, someone give her a jacket.” Vic waved at Cora, who was leaning over his shoulder watching everything silently. 

Heavy winter things were passed over his shoulder, Stiles took the initiative to help the girl after Hal asked if they should pull over. Vic said no, and he agreed, excitement was the last thing he wanted to add to such an unpredictable situation. She seemed docile and quiet now. He wanted it to remain that way, at least until they were far away from hugely populated cities, like the one they were passing through. 

No one was suggesting water or food for the girl, he ignored it for a while, but he couldn’t stay that unrelentingly suspicious for long. The girl was frightened, but she was superb at hiding it. She stole furtive glances around the van every time she thought no one was looking at her. 

“Vic, can you give her something to eat, and one of those water bottles from the back Cora?” he asked, feeling like a dam had burst in his chest. 

Cora handed him the water and he opened it, taking a drink to show the girl it was safe. He handed the bottle to her open, because he suspected she had never seen a plastic bottle like that in her life. She took it out of his hand and drank half of it, holding her hand out for the cap he still had. he dropped it in her waiting fingers and she threaded it on, tightening it like she knew exactly what she was doing. Vic handed her an apple, then put the cooler at the girls feet and opened it to show her there were more inside. The girl moved things around in the cooler as she ate the apple, mumbling something to herself when she pulled out an orange. 

“I think we have achieved good will? Maybe?” Stiles said to him. “Thinking on your toes there Hale.” 

Halfway to Vic’s house, after eating most of the oranges in the cooler, the girl fell asleep against the back of Hal’s seat. They rode in silence most of the way, not wanting to wake her up or suffer any sort of potential wrath. He asked Vic if they should take the girl back to her house, or stop somewhere and try to talk to her. Vic shook her head and reminded him of all the times she said the girl wasn’t dangerous, that it was still true. When they got back to Vic’s place they unloaded quietly, trying not to wake the girl, but when he went to check on her, she was sitting up, watching them curiously. 

“I’m Derek, and this is Cora.” He waved Cora over as he sat on the floor near the door of the van. “It would be a lot easier if you could speak,” he said. 

“Nemain,” the girl said cautiously. 

“This is Vic’s house, we should go inside. Can you walk?” Derek asked. 

Slowly, with healthy level of vigilance, Nemain unearthed herself from the pile of jackets and blankets. Derek got out of her way as she pushed herself out of the van and set her feet on the ground. Her legs trembled as she put weight on one, then the other. Derek could see the inevitable crash landing, so he reached out and caught her arms. She was unsteady, and frustrated with her discomfort and the contact between them, but she let herself lean on him instead of going back to the van. 

Watching her struggle on hard gravel with bare feet and the potential for scraped up knees wasn’t something he was willing to do for long. He picked her up in his arms, carrying her into the house the same way he carried her down the mountain trail. She wasn’t happy about it, but she didn’t struggle or fight him. 

“You can try again inside, where you won’t be hurt as badly if you fall,” Derek assured her as they walked through the doorway Cora held open. 

If she was going to relearn to walk, she needed new clothes, or something different at least. She was so small Cora’s pants were hanging over her toes, threatening to fall off of her. He set her down on the couch and motioned to Cora to stay with her as they unpacked the rest of the gear. When he came back to check on her, she was chatting with Patrick, and Cora was no where to be seen. 

“Hey, what’s going on?” he asked. 

“Neva was telling me about Ireland. I told her I didn’t know much about it.” Patrick smiled up at him, shrugging, his eyes wide like he wasn’t sure how he got her to talk. 

“Neva, is that a short version of your name,” Derek asked. 

Nemain glanced up at him like she was unimpressed and mildly offended he would speak to her at all, then she nodded and turned her head back toward Patrick. Derek wasn’t sure what her problem was, but Patrick seemed fine, and so did Nemain before he showed up, so he left again to help Vic repack the gun locker. 

"Um, Derek, she's out there talking, like, a lot of talking," Stiles said after he almost took out a wall out scrambling around the corner. 

"I'm aware," Derek said. 

"You don't think that's kinda -- whoa, what the heck are those?" Stiles watched intently as Vic carefully unpacked large ammunition rounds, unearthing the weapons case below it. 

“M32, 40mm grenade launcher. Non lethal rounds. They’re wolfsbane infused tear gas, and these are sponge rounds with an impact pocket of Aconitum Ferox powder. Knocks a Werewolf flat on his ass for about an hour," Vic answered. 

“Are you fucking kidding me? Why don’t we have shit like this?” Stiles asked, half pleading, half coveting. 

“I’m assuming it’s because you don’t have a genius like Hal on the payroll.” Vic smiled then popped open the weapon case, and took out the grenade launcher. She handed it to Stiles who held it for about half a second before giving it back. 

As much as Stiles pretended to like or understand modern weaponry, the only thing he seemed comfortable carrying was a baseball bat. 

"Wait, so why aren't you guys out there chatting her up?" Stiles asked. 

"My fingerprints open the gun lockers, can't go till it's all packed away," Vic answered, proving again she really was back to her old self. 

"She didn't want to talk to me." 

"Why not?" Stiles asked with a deep scowl of confusion. 

"I don't know Stiles, why don't you go ask her?" he said, exasperated with the situation already. 

The expression on Stiles face changed drastically as he pondered why he didn't think of that himself, then wondered how he was going to do it. At least that was Derek's best guess, Stiles was transparent, but sometimes Derek still didn't understand what he was looking at. A moment later Stiles voice traveled down the hallway, announcing his awkward conversational skills to the whole house. 

"I kinda feel sorry for her," Vic said as she closed up one locker and opened the next. 

"I don’t know, it sounds like she thinks he’s funny.” 

“Don’t be jealous Blue Eyes, you can get the girl, you just gotta try harder.” Vic laughed and pushed his shoulder playfully. 

“What happened to Cora?” he asked, hoping to change the subject finally. 

“I saw her go back in her room not that long ago, I think you were still downstairs.” Vic closed the locker she was working on and handed him the last of the protective cases. “We’re done, I can take these to the back room, go check on her.” 

Knocking lightly on Cora’s door, he hummed to himself quietly as he waited. It was a courtesy they were taught when they were very young, so they weren’t listening in as the person on the other side made themselves decent. The only person he ever practiced it for anymore was Cora. 

“Come in,” Cora called to him. 

A tornado of clothing had taken over Cora’s room. She sat on the floor, in between the closet door and bed, the same way he had a few days ago. He sat down on top of a few pairs of pants, not as concerned with them as he was with Cora. 

“I was going to try to clean it up, but then I felt stupid,” Cora said. 

“What is this?” he asked. 

“Laura’s stuff.”

“She had this much stuff here?” Derek was surprised, even for Laura it seemed excessive. 

“Some of it fits me, but things like this?” Cora lifted up a shimmering turquoise halter top he had never seen Laura wear. “I’ll never wear this, ever.” 

“Not even if I take you dancing?” he asked. 

“Not even then,” Cora laughed. 

“Why is this a problem?” 

“Because Laura was smaller than me,” Cora said, like he was supposed to understand why that was important. “Like the same size as Nemain.” 

“She’s apparently called Neva by her friends, and you don't have to give her Laura’s clothes. I’ll go buy her something right now.” 

“No, this is stupid. I don’t want to be a size two, ever. I’m tiny enough as it is, but what good is any of this stuff doing me? I’m being uncharacteristically sentimental.” Cora sighed and looked around the room, assessing the mess. 

“You didn’t read all the paperwork did you?” he asked. 

“Not every word, no.” 

“You own a whole apartment in Brooklyn filled full of your sisters things. I would like a little consideration before you get rid of anything, but I gave it all to you, because what am I going to do with it?” 

“Oh,” Cora said, the tension and concern melted from her shoulders and face. 

“This stuff is just stuff, but you don't have to worry about losing something special, everything she really cared about she kept at our place, except Vic.” Derek smiled. 

“Okay, I’m done being a big baby about this then, will you bring her back here?” 

“Sure,” he said, pausing at the door. “I think you might have missed the part where she’s talkative now.” 

“I caught that,” Cora said, unconcerned. 

In the living room Hal had joined Patrick and Stiles, they were all fixed on Nemain as she told a story about what sounded like an altercation. 

“Then Liath asks me how much I would take for him and I answer ‘not for all the gold in Ireland’.” Nemain finished her story, her hand raised, making a very offensive gesture only Hal seemed to understand, he was laughing hard enough.

“Nemain, Cora would like to come to her room,” Derek said from the end of the hall.

Stiles looked to her for an answer, then held out his hands to help her up. He walked with her down the hall, her steps becoming more steady the further she walked. They passed by him without comment, Nemain not acknowledging his presence. 

“That is some cold shoulder shit right there brother, what the fuck did you do to piss her off?” Vic asked, closing up the gun locker. Stiles and Nemain disappeared into Cora’s room. 

“I picked her up in the driveway and brought her in. She didn’t seem very happy about that. Maybe she didn’t want to be touched,” he said. 

“She seems okay with Stiles helping her,” Vic said, shrugging her shoulders. 

“Honestly, I don't care.” Derek turned and walked back to the living room, climbing into his familiar loft bed to rest and read for a while. 

***

“No, I like that one better,” Stiles said as Neva tried on the fourth shirt Cora handed her, still eying the fifth like maybe she could wear them both. 

“I like that one too, you can wear this one tomorrow,” Cora reminded her. 

“Yes, thank you. You honor me with your beloved sisters belongings,” Neva said, smiling kindly at Cora. 

“How did you know these were Laura’s?” Cora asked. 

“Vic’s grief hangs heavy on every item, her grief is everywhere in this house.” Neva slipped shoes on that she picked out, flexing her toes against the canvas. 

“That’s not going to bother you is it? Stiles had to ask, clothing covered in sadness didn't sound appealing, or healthy. 

“Not at all,” Neva answered, raising her eyebrows like it was a surprising question. 

“Can I ask you something?” Stiles asked Neva. 

“Of course,” Neva said, sitting down on the bed next to Cora. 

“Why were you in the lake?” 

Neva gave him a look he was very familiar with. It was the look older people gave him when they felt like he was crossing a line, being annoying, or excitable. He was immune to the power of that kind of disapproval, so he waited for an answer, or an indication he wasn’t getting one. 

“None of you know who I am, do you?” Neva asked, genuinely confused.

“All we know is what Vic told us, that you’re a banshee, and you’re not dangerous.” Stiles waited for a response until he realized those two sentiments didn't actually belong in a sentence together. “I know, I mean --”

“I’m not dangerous to you?” Neva said. 

“Yeah, that’s what I meant.”

“Will you answer, who sent you to retrieve me?” 

Neva watched him intently as he thought of what to say, which parts to tell her. He had a feeling any kind of lie probably wouldn’t be a good idea, and leaving things out would only lead to a lot more questions. He gave her the basics, up to when they found her. He condensed it as much as he could, not intentionally leaving anything out. 

“I appreciate the diligence and ambition you have shown, but I need to be taken to your Alpha immediately,” Neva informed him, standing to show she meant now. 

“Wait, one second, we don’t -- Cora, you take this one,” Stiles said, scrubbing a hand down his face. How did he always end up here?

“There is no Alpha, Derek used to be, but he isn’t anymore,” Cora explained. 

They explained what happened, every answer led to another question. Neva knew more about some things than they did, the line of questions ended when Neva sat back on the bed, her expression a mask of disbelief and sadness. 

“There’s no one.” Neva stood and was out the door before he could stop her. 

They followed her to the end of the hall, but instead of going out the front door like he expected, she turned and walked through the house to the deck. Throwing open the door, she stepped outside and made her way slowly to the long bench, draping herself over the corner, looking out to the valley, like Vic often did. 

“Let’s leave her alone for a while,” Cora said. 

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Derek said from the loft above them. 

***

Sunset was only a few minutes away, Nemain, Neva, whatever he was allowed to call her, was still sitting on the deck. She was cold, he could see her shivering from the loft, but she did nothing about it. They continued to leave her alone because he kept telling everyone to, but soon he wouldn’t be able to keep Stiles or Vic away. Hal and Patrick had gone home, Cora had followed Patrick for some unknown reason. He wished she would have stayed, but she had done enough. 

Derek had to go down and talk to her eventually. Vic and Stiles were in the back room, retelling their own versions of what happened up on the mountain, when they were confronted by the werewolves. They were both incredibly creative problem solvers, fortunately Stiles solution didn’t involve knocking him out, along with the rest of the werewolves, then pulling him out and running as fast as they could. They would probably be in the middle of a stand off right now somewhere between Mount Hood and Portland. It would have given him a good reason to call Rob though. 

Steeling himself against Nemain’s disapproving glare took more effort than he liked. Derek wasn’t sure what it was about her that made him feel like he wanted her approval. She was a banshee, she was powerful, and old, but she was a banshee. To him she was no different than any other human, except the intensely disquieting connection to all things death, and the pain she could inflict by screaming. On a good day Vic could inflict more pain than that, in the end the scream was just another weapon. 

Nemain didn't react as he opened the door and walked across the deck. He dropped the blue afghan over her, and she raised a hand, waving him away. 

“You can’t dismiss me, I’m not a servant,” Derek said, his skin bristling with anger already. 

“You are a child,” Nemain turned to him, livid and full of rage for the briefest moment. As fast as she reacted, the emotion was gone, her face fell to the same disaffected expression she wore every time she looked at him. “I have nothing for you, leave me alone.” 

“I would love to leave you alone, but I know neither of the other two people in this house will. The only reason they haven’t been out here bothering you is because I told them not to,” Derek said, sitting down far enough away she wouldn’t feel uncomfortable. 

“And they listen to you, do they?” Nemain curled her lip and rolled her eyes, looking away from him. 

“I don’t know who you are, and Stiles was right, we didn’t know why we went up there, but it would be much more helpful if you told us what you know instead of sitting out here freezing to death, wallowing in your own self pity.” 

“I see the ears I gave you still work as well as ever,” Nemain curled a disdainful half smile and pulled the blanket up around her shoulders. 

“What does that mean?” Derek asked. 

“Nothing, send out the boy, or Victoria, I can no longer speak to you,” Nemain held her hand up, dismissing him again. 

“This is the last time I’m going to tell you --” 

“The last time? And what will you do to me? You are not even a boy king anymore, you have no power. The voices of the dead, they tell me what happened to our family. The stories come back to you, Derek Hale; ignorant, impetuous, lustful. Our family all but snuffed out of existence, and you!” Nemain rose to her feet, taking a step toward him. He got up, moving away instinctively. “You destroyed the seed of our power, a legacy passed down through a hundred generations. You pour it into your sister to cure a simple curse.” 

Nemain shook with rage and cold, her skin bristling with goosebumps. The accusations were spears being hurdled at his chest. Every part of his being wanted to run as far away from her as he could get. 

“In one breath, I could destroy you.” 

Nemain’s threat blistered his already evaporating courage. His breath caught in his chest as her shoulders tensed. He fell back against the table, the loud noise as it scraped across the wood startled him. He remembered Stiles and Vic, still talking in the back room, then, he remembered who he was. 

Nothing would ever make him feel like this again. He promised himself the night they left Beacon Hills, nothing would ever take his choice away to stand and fight, not Julia, or Scott, or any hunter, and certainly not someone he had saved from a long, frozen death. 

“Why don’t you then?” he asked, forcing himself to stand straight, his arms folded tightly across his chest. “If I’m really the one responsible for all of it, why don’t you make me pay?” 

Nemain’s eyes narrowed, she stepped forward, though all the resolve had drained from her. She reached out for him, pulling back as her body lurched suddenly, fear erupting across her face. Derek reached out as her legs buckled, catching her before she fell. Pushing against him, she tried to get away as her chest swelled unnaturally. He braced himself against the deck, pushing her face away as a scream exploded out of her.

The blinding white pain that threatened to destroy his eyes and ears was a distraction. He forced himself to keep her upright, aiming the destructive shock wave of sound that continued to pour out of her away from the mountain, away from the house, where it might destroy everyone inside. 

As soon as the noise stopped, he let go, knowing he couldn’t stand anymore. Eyes, ears and skin were nothing more than conduits for pain. Allowing himself to go to the familiar darkness that blocked everything out was his reward. In the comforting blackness, he had no body, only his heartbeat remained. Slowly subsiding to a steady pulse, free of pain and suffering. 

Sounds and voices dragged him back, hands touched his face and arms. Stiles’ voice, always Stiles. Memories of another time flooded his mind, fevered touches by firelight, sitting around the table at the Stilinski house, a river, Erica, all of it was there, waiting for him to reach out and take it. 

Light stung his eyes, shadows moved against the bright sky. He reached out, Stiles' hand met his and he let himself breathe. He took in one slow breath after another as the pain slowly filtered away. 

“I think he’s healing, Vic, I think he’s going to be okay,” Stiles said. 

A hand moved across his forehead, too small to be Stiles. He searched for Cora, turning his head to see at least the shadow of her. 

“Shh, little wolf, stay still,” a low sweet voice said to him. 

It wasn’t Cora, but the voice was kind. A slow, honey like relaxation spread over his face, down his neck and across his shoulders. He was floating, content and free. He opened his eyes again and the world came into focus. Nemain smiled at him, her radiant blue eyes were beautiful and perfect. 

“Derek are you okay?” Stiles asked. 

“Yeah, I feel fine,” he said, sitting up and lifting himself to his feet. 

Derek reached down and helped Nemain up off the deck. He looked her over carefully to make sure she was fine as well. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, just to be sure. 

“Yes, thank you. That was very brave.” She smiled at him and he smiled back, she liked him now, and that was what was most important. 

“Derek, what are you doing?” Stiles asked, sounding annoyed. 

“Checking on Nemain.” 

“Call me Neva,” she said, showing him she trusted him now, valued him as a friend. 

“Vic... Vic!” Stiles shouted into the house, but Vic was on the phone talking to Cora. 

He waved to Vic through the glass doors, smiling, showing her he was okay. She stared at him for a moment and narrowed her eyes, sighing deeply. She turned to Stiles and handed him the phone. 

“Tell Cora I love her,” Vic said to Stiles. 

Derek grinned, happy that Vic loved Cora, he wanted that very much. Neva squeezed his hand and touched his arm where a large purple bruise was slowly disappearing from his skin. He turned to Vic as she came out the door, but she didn’t look happy. He opened his mouth to ask her what was wrong when she raised her fist to strike him. He ducked, but her knee came up, cracking him in the ribs painfully. The breath knocked out of him as he fell to the ground. 

“Jesus christ Vic!” he shouted, rolling over on his back, holding his broken ribs. 

“Do I need to hit you again? I’ll go get my taser if I have to,” Vic threatened. 

“No! no, I’m fine, no more good mood. I fucking promise.” He snarled, gritting his teeth as his bones stitched back together. Ribs were the fucking worst. 

“Was that necessary?” Nemain asked Vic. 

“His perpetual internal pain is ninety percent of his personality, and the constant vigilance is what generally keeps us alive when people like you are around, so yes, that was necessary,” Vic said before slamming the screen door and taking the phone back from Stiles. 

A car alarm was still going off at a neighbors house further down the valley. Derek lifted himself up and sat on the bench, rubbing his forehead as Nemain hovered close by. Stiles stood in the doorway, watching their every move. 

“I apologize your gift was cut short, but Victoria reminds me there are not many of us left. You can not afford to lessen your acuity,” Nemain said, folding her hands as she sat next to him. 

“Can you just tell me what the fuck is going on already? Before you go nuclear again and bring down the whole side of the mountain?” Derek asked, finally feeling relief in his ribs as the bones settled and his muscles repaired themselves. 

“I am very sorry, it’s been a long time. I wasn’t prepared.” Nemain clutched her knees and rubbed her legs anxiously.

“I used to be someone very powerful, I created you, and your family, but we were driven out of Ireland and scattered to the wind as we were hunted down. Your family hid me, to protect me, and the power we serve.” Nemain’s story was unbelievable, but it was the same as the origin story only his family knew. “Because that power is gone now, and you were the last it belonged to. I don’t see why you shouldn’t know these things. The plans we made are no longer possible.” 

“What plans?” Derek asked. 

“To reunite the Morrigan and stop the hunt forever.” Nemain hunched over, wrapping her arms around herself tightly. 

Being hunted was the thing his family feared most. It was the reason the Alpha pack existed. It was the beginning and end of everything that had destroyed his life, and somehow they had missed their opportunity to be free of it. 

He recalled back when he was a teenager, when Paige died and the packs converged to meet with his mother, they had maps. Pictures of mountains and forest his parents and grandparents argued over endlessly, but it wasn’t the kind of arguing that led to bitterness and pain. They were making a plan.


	13. Another Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was beautiful, he always had been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little Vic POV at the end, I hope you all like it! 
> 
> Chapter Title inspired by the song Another Love by Tom Odell  
> http://youtu.be/MwpMEbgC7DA

“I’m going to give this to Neva, unless you think that’s a bad idea?” Stiles asked Vic, she was in the middle of trying to perfect a ‘rare’ steak, that looked like it was still mooing when she pulled it off the heat and put it on a plate. 

“Sure, it’s probably hers,” Vic said absently, laying a new steak in the hot pan. 

There were a few photos inside the box, enough to know if it belonged to her, or someone in Derek’s family. He slid the lid to the side and picked up the first stack of photographs, underneath, in a silver oval frame was a painted portrait of a man that looked a lot like Derek. He flipped it over, inscribed on the back was Henry FitzJames. Under that was a daguerreotype of Neva with a large, older man with huge sideburns. It proved the generally accepted theory that she was far older than she looked. 

One of the stones rattling around in the box looked like rough white quartz, the other was a shimmering brownish purple. He was about to close the box and take it to Neva when the white quartz caught his eye, it looked bluish on the inside, like it might be opal. He picked it up and held it up to the light to see if there was any opalescence visible. 

All it did was make the light brighter, which didn’t seem right. It felt slightly warm in his hand as he moved it around, then the light caught the inside and a blue incandescence swirled like a kaleidoscope under the surface. 

“Stiles...” Derek said in a low voice, “put it down.” 

The alarm in Derek’s voice didn’t make any sense. He opened his mouth to ask why, but his voice was paralyzed. He looked down at the stone and saw scattered blue light shimmering around his fingers and arm. He dropped the box, looking at his other hand as it clattered to the floor, spreading photographs all over. The blue light traced tendrils of energy across his veins, he couldn’t drop the stone. His hands were frozen in place just like his voice. He looked back at Derek for help, feeling rigid and barely able to move. 

Stiles saw himself reflected in the glass door, his eyes were glowing a bright, fire-like blue and light swirled all around him. He looked like a ghost. The bright light filled his eyes, obscuring everything around him. His heart was slowing down, he was too paralyzed to be terrified of dying this way. 

A hand covered the side of his face, another took the stone from his hand. Quiet words brought back his vision, clearing the light from his eyes. Neva stood to his side, Derek was in front of him, hovering, waiting. The last of the energy pull from him, like a magnet had been attached to his chest. He stumbled back as Neva let his hand go. 

The light surrounded her, but it wasn’t shimmering like it was with him. It ran across her hands like a slow fog. It wasn’t iridescent or alive like it had been on his skin. He watched as she filtered the energy into the stone. The blueish white light slowly faded from her completely, settling inside the stone. The blue shimmering glow emanating from the stone looked like an aura around it now. He was afraid to move or use his voice. Afraid parts of him had been stolen or broken by the stone somehow. 

“Derek --,” Neva said like a command, still clutching the stone tightly with both hands. 

Before she could finish, he was off his feet, engulfed by massive arms. He buried face in Derek’s shoulder, suddenly overwhelmed with fear. He felt ridiculous, like a child who had shocked themselves on a wall plug, but was too old to be playing with it in the first place. Derek kept telling him it was okay, but it wasn’t sinking in very quickly. He sucked in air and slowly let it out his nose, trying to regain his composure. 

“Curiosity killed the cat,” he said as Derek lowered him back to his feet. 

“Satisfaction brought it back,” Neva smiled. 

“That’s awesome you guys think this is funny, is anyone going to die, or explode?” Vic stared at them in shock from over the breakfast bar, gripping her spatula like it could be a weapon. 

“No, not anymore,” Neva said as she bent down to pick up the box. 

As she took everything out except the stones Derek helped her pick up the photographs. Stiles leaned against the back of the couch assessing if he felt normal. 

“I’m sorry if I broke anything,” Stiles said. 

“Things can be replaced, you can not,” Neva said, then asked Vic for some sort of container for her things. 

Everything was deposited on the breakfast bar in a pile, and Neva went through it, carefully stacking everything into a plastic sandwich container. He looked up at Vic and she shrugged. It was the closest thing she could find. Derek held out the silver framed painting when Neva was done, silently asking for an explanation before she took it from his hand. 

“My beloved husband,” Neva said with a heavy bitterness in her voice. “We spent hundreds of years waging war against the druids. History remembers it as a war of nationalities, the English against the Irish, but it was the fae against the druids, and our clan was the most terrible. My sisters and I cut a path of death and destruction so deep the druids were bleeding from every limb.” 

She closed the lid of the plastic contained, her shoulders falling as she recalled. “I was once a great and deadly queen, but the druids broke our trinity using dark magic. They sacrificed their eternal souls just to break us, when all we wanted was the right to live peacefully. They hunted us down like dogs, until finally I was the only woman left in our blood line.” 

“This Henry FitzJames person, was he a werewolf?” Stiles asked

“Not until I made him one, but that is why he agreed to marry me, the Erenagh of Killala brokered our engagement. Henry was an illegitimate grandson of the house of Stuart, he had no business marrying someone like me, but he wanted the power. We needed the protection, and the wealth.”

“I thought you were outside the family, like a part of it but not directly...” Derek trailed off. 

Stiles wrapped an arm around Derek’s waist, hoping it made Derek feel better. Derek’s hand slid up his back and settled on the back of Stiles neck. The only time he had ever seen Derek this lost was right after Boyd died, as he picked Derek up off the floor and helped him out of his loft. 

“We are twenty three generations removed from each other,” Neva said, rejecting Derek’s concern that she was somehow his relative. 

“But I look just like him?” Derek said. 

“You don't look as much like him as that painting happens to look like you. It was painted by someone with the intention of being excessively flattering. Henry was half a foot shorter than you, and may have looked something like you in his best years, but those weren’t spent with me.” Neva’s words were something of a compliment, but the disdain in her voice was sharp enough to stab someone with. 

“If you hated this guy so much, why do you keep his painting?” Stiles asked. 

“Because sometimes when we create offspring with humans, even changed humans, strange things happen. Henry has repeated countless times through the Hale family line,” Neva said. 

“Repeated, you mean reincarnated?” Stiles asked. 

“Thankfully, no, but Derek is not the first Hale to have that particular countenance, just like all bean nighe -- banshee -- look similar, so do special people in our lineage. Ever since Henry at least.” Neva said. 

“Special how?” Derek asked. 

“We never know, sometimes they are incredibly powerful, sometimes they are intelligent, strategic, and sometimes they simply cannot be killed until their time comes,” Neva explained. 

Stiles looked at Derek, waiting to see if he was going to share with Neva all the times he had cheated death somehow, but he kept quiet. Stiles was relieved. All the talk of being a great and terrifying queen did not settle well with him. 

“Because no one has asked yet about why young Stiles glowed like a firefly when he touched the moonstone, I assume you all know he is a conduit of Anu,” Neva said, not asked. 

“I don't know what that means, but I’ve had problems with things like that before, yes,” Stiles glanced up at Derek. HIs expression wasn’t one of curiosity, but pain, like he knew what happened. “Do you remember?”

Derek nodded, unwilling to share that information either. 

“A problem?” Neva asked, an exasperated expression crossing her face. “There was a woman like you once, one of my greatest warriors. She worked tirelessly, using the energy she was conduit to as a defense against the druids. She held the moonstone, much like you did, when one of mys sisters dropped it in battle. The light erupted, scattering her to the wind like dust, but later that night she came back to us. She was frozen in time, nothing was ever able to kill her again, and she never aged. You’re welcome to try it if you like?” Neva offered him the copper box. 

“No, no thank you,” he said, holding his hand up.

“As illuminating as this conversation is, the steaks are getting cold,” Vic said, bringing them back to reality. 

They ate dinner in relative silence, only speaking when Nemain had a question. Stiles stole glances at Derek and Vic through dinner, neither of them wanted him to speak, or acknowledge that there was anything strange about them not speaking. After dinner Neva sat down at the couch with a tablet Vic had given her, searching through page after page of encyclopedias and google. Eventually she fell asleep and Vic motioned to them to get up and follow her. 

They went through the house, through the back room and out a small sliding door. They followed a path he had never taken before down a long set of concrete stairs. Vic unlocked a door at the bottom and ushered them inside. They walked through a dusty, wet smelling basement room, illuminated by one single bulb. on the other side was an old door, painted the same grey color as the concrete in the basement. 

Vic opened the door and light came pouring out. Both Hal and Patrick were seated at computers, and Cora was writing a list on a dry erase board on the wall. The room was thick concrete, obviously a bomb shelter built into the side of the mountain. The room wasn’t excessively big, but it was a little bit larger than Vic’s living room. 

“What do you have so far?” Vic asked Patrick. 

“We know she is one of the sisters in the Morrigan trinity, I’m having a hard time verifying some of this information. Until a few days ago I worked with much harder sciences, but Hal has been helping me filter. Most of the important parts Cora is writing up there,” Patrick pointed to the dry erase board behind him. 

“If she is who she says she is, then she could be telling the truth about stopping the hunt?” Derek asked. 

“Are those security cameras in the living room?” Stiles asked. 

“You can’t see the loft,” Vic said. 

“But you can hear it?” he raised his voice and Vic gave him a look, telling him he was worried about the wrong thing right now. “Fine, what does stopping the hunt mean?” 

“She said my family had a plan, to stop the hunt. To stop all hunters from killing us, just because we exist,” Derek said. 

“Hunters don’t kill you just because you exist,” Stiles said, but changed what he was about to say when he saw Derek’s very unhappy face. “Okay, the code is self imposed, they do sometimes, but what does ‘Stopping the hunt’ mean? Killing all the hunters? turning all the werewolves into sunshine?” 

“We don't know Stiles, she might just be another Julia,” Derek said. 

“A crazy bitch with a vendetta against hunters instead of Alphas, this is getting better by the second,” Stiles sat down in the closest chair and watched the chaos unfolding around him. 

They compiled and argued well into the night, finally coming to the conclusion that Nemain’s story was legitimate. In ancient times she worked with the druids as the keeper of the ancient groves, the nematon were named after her, but the druids fought against the sacrifice she demanded of humans for the fae and the otherkin, half human half fae like werewolves. They made deals and accessed dark magic trying to free themselves from her compulsion. 

She waged a terrible war that destroyed the majority of the population of Ireland twice before the druids stripped her and her sisters of most of their power. The druids then demanded the werewolves split into smaller packs, each with it’s own emissary to report back and keep the peace amongst the clans. The hunters were druids and warriors that banded together to track down and kill those werewolves that refused to follow the new law and refrain from taking human sacrifice, or changing humans that did not ask for the bite. 

“And we freed her. Better yet, your family conspired to give back all her power so she could what? Start up another war?” Stiles asked. 

“We don’t know what the plan was, it could be something simple, something we don't understand,” Derek said. 

“Whoa, really? You’re going to tell me stories about a psychotic banshee war queen and then try to convince me she means to cuddle the hunters into submission?” 

“Stiles, you don't know anything about this, just shut the hell up,” Derek shouted. 

Anger and humiliation made him sick to his stomach. His cheeks flushed as everyone looked at him, waiting to see what he would say. He turned and walked out, running the long way around the house, up to the barn, but the barn door was locked. He shuffled over to the low retaining wall across the driveway, and waited for Derek to inevitably find him. A moment later, Derek walked around the corner, stopping to take in the possibilities before he approached. 

“I have the keys, if you want them,” Derek offered. 

“No, my dramatic exit was ruined,” Stiles answered. 

“Nobody else knows that.” 

Derek unlocked the door, motioning for him to follow. He had nothing to lose, except a little self respect. Derek led him to the tiny room above the garage. The bed was cleaned off, but the rest of the room was still filled with random treasures. 

“I did that before we left,” Derek explained. 

It was clean enough, but cold, until Derek flipped on the space heater and sat down on the bed. 

“I’m sorry I yelled at you, this is just hard to understand,” Derek said, rubbing his eyebrows roughly. 

“It’s not really, you’ve done this before. Someone or something comes along and looks a little too good to be true, but you buy it, hoping that this time it’ll work out. You let yourself be used hoping for an easy solution.” His words were not going to sit well, but Stiles didn't care. This was bigger than Peter, or the Kanima, Gerard and Scott, or Julia. 

“What if it could work? What if we could end all the fighting? Let people live and be free?” Derek asked, showing Stiles his words didn't have near the impact he wanted them to. 

“How do you do that? By taking power from them somehow? That’s how Nemain solves problems. It’s potentially how she’s been solving probalems for a very long time, what makes you think she had a reason to change now? Peace can be achieved, if that;s what you want, but it means everyone has to agree and work together,” Stiles said. 

“Hunters can’t be trusted.” 

“Chris and Allison can't be trusted?” 

“For every Chris and Allison, there is a Victoria, Kate and Gerard. I remember a time when you said their code was just a bunch of fancy words to hide bodies behind,” Derek argued. 

“I wasn't the same person when I said that, but sometimes it’s true, just like for every Derek, Cora and Laura, there is a Peter, Deucalion, and Kali. Neither side is free of blame. Her solution won't work, because she doesn’t know how the world works anynmore. If you want this, it has to be something that will work for people of our time,” he said, hoping Derek would eventually hear him. 

Derek’s expression softened and he nodded. “You’re right, I’m sorry.” 

“Just like that?” 

“I care more about you, than this werewolf bullshit, so, yes,” Derek said, proving he remembered a lot about their old life. “Please, come over here.” Derek held his hand out, waiting. 

Trusting it could be that easy wasn’t how he worked, that was the very reason they were arguing in the first place. Derek reached out for him again, wrapping his hand around Stiles wrist. Stiles relented and stepped toward Derek, standing between his knees. The faint light from the street lamp above the barn illuminated the side of Derek’s face, bringing out all of the hard angles and curves. 

He was beautiful, he always had been, the first day he saw Derek in the woods he stared, mouth hanging open like a fool. No matter what happened, they were connected by fate, but there was no guarantee what that connection was supposed to be. His heart swelled with pain imagining the possibility that Derek might be his enemy someday. 

“Your brain is working too hard. I promise, I’m not going to pursue this,” Derek reassured him. 

Impossible eyes that somehow looked green, brown and grey all at the same time were fixed on his face, begging for his acceptance and attention. Beautiful, human eyes he couldn’t say no to. Pushing Derek back on the bed, Stiles followed him down, Derek’s lips were soft and needful against his skin. Derek’s hands gripped against his ribs and back, pulling him closer until the heat between their hips was the only thing either of them cared about. 

Fingers worked at his zipper, Derek turned Stiles on to his back so he could inch away his clothing, down over his hips, unhurried. Soft touches replaced the burning, frenzied rush as Derek hung over him, kissing him slowly as their hips rolled against each other. The easy movement between them, the way Derek’s mouth couldn’t close around the soft moans, finally made him fall apart. Pleasure rushed over him in waves. Derek pinned him down, keeping pace of his hips steady until he was nothing but a sweating mess of slick wetness and satisfaction. 

They slept long into the night, not caring about the scheming and plotting going on behind closed doors so close to them. The first sounds of morning woke him, low, grey light poured through the large windows over his head. A knock sounded at the door and Stiles reached down to check the covers. Before he could call out to wait a moment, the door opened and Hal walked in. Blood poured out of a gaping wound in his chest, his tattoos writed and moved along his body like snakes. 

“I’m dreaming aren’t I?” he asked Hal. 

“Yes, something gave me a chance to come back, to tell you what happened because it wasn’t supposed to happen. Derek didn't listen, he wants to believe. He tried to stop us from finding Kilda and interfering with Nemain. We lost Cora.” 

“She killed Cora?” Stiles asked, already certain Cora would never waver, she would fight to the death for what she believed in. 

“I’m dead Stiles, we all are. She thought she was powerless, but with you, she thinks she can rebuild. She can't control herself as she is. She can't use her powers without destroying everything around her, but you’ve given her enough already to do this to us. She’ll take Derek against his will, if we don't leave before the sun comes up,” Hal warned him. 

“The sun is already up,” Stiles said, pointing out the window, but heavy clouds rolling against the night sky said differently. 

Sleep hung heavy against his eyelids, he was tired and anxious. This was what awake really felt like. He picked up his phone and typed out a message to Vic quietly. He set his phone to silent and corresponded until they had a plan. 

***

“I’ll be right back,” Stiles whispered. 

Derek nodded, not opening his eyes. A moment later the van pulled into the driveway and he looked out the window. Vic and Stiles were packing a weapons case into the side door and Hal was behind the wheel. He rushed out to see what was going on. Hal got out of the van smiling and bellowing his name from across the driveway. 

He waved to Hal, slowing as Stiles and Vic climbed into the van, expecting Hal to tell him what they were doing. Hal stepped out from behind the door, raising the grenade launcher and firing off a shot before Derek could run. The round hit his shoulder, breaking bones and skin. A cloud of purple dust covered him and everything was blackness. 

***

“Do you want to stop for food?” Vic asked. 

Stiles shook his head, still not speaking to anyone. Tears ran down his cheeks unchecked. They had been driving for four hours, and still, he couldn't stop crying. Vic handed him scratchy, uncomfortable paper towels occasionally, but everything he did for himself, he did because he wanted to be left alone.

Self loathing writhed in his guts like venomous snakes. He was exhausted, drained of the will to keep his head up, but he couldn't fall asleep. Every time he drifted off, he would remember what he had done and the self loathing would well up in him again. A new batch of hot, stinging tears would cover his face and he wanted to scream, or hurt himself to make it stop. He would do anything to make this feeling stop. 

“We have to go back,” he said. 

Vic turned around, looking first at him, then at Patrick. He repeated himself and Patrick climbed over the seat, sitting next to him. He shifted himself away, expecting Patrick to argue with him, fight him, or restrain him somehow, instead his eyes were sad, his touch was comforting. 

“He’s going to be okay,” Patrick said. 

Hard angry sounds wanted to come out of his mouth, but nothing happened, he couldn't breathe or speak. The pain and hatred was going to drown him. Patrick closed his arms tightly around Stiles’s shoulders. 

“You have to breathe,” Patrick said quietly against his forehead. “Just keep breathing.”

***

“Derek, we have to go,” Cora pushed at his shoulder, motivating him forward. 

They were boarding a train to Nova Scotia. He wasn’t sure why, but Cora told them they had to go there. Nemain trusted Cora, and Cora loved Nemain. The problem was; Nemain was just one more in a long line of horrifying monsters he had to tolerate. 

For the first few days after Stiles left him he didn’t understand, he was angry, betrayed by everyone he loved the most, except his sister. Then Nemain began to fixate on getting Stiles back, asking Derek what he could do to make that happen. It was Cora that finally convinced her that Stiles wasn’t worth the effort, that Kilda was probably still alive somewhere in Ireland, and far more powerful that Stiles could hope to be. That’s when they left Portland and traveled north. 

Now they were on a train, headed to Nova Scotia, and Cora was telling him to pay attention, but he didn’t want to do anything. He wanted to disappear. The only reason he stayed, the only reason he kept moving was for Cora. Everything else was a grey haze he tried his best to ignore. 

“Derek, please, listen to me,” Cora shook his arm roughly. 

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Derek asked. 

“Derek I need you to snap out of it, please,” Cora begged him. 

“Why, what’s wrong?” He looked around the cabin, noticing Nemain wasn't there. 

“She left to use the bathroom. Derek, I need you to pay attention and follow everything I do. I haven’t heard from Vic in two days, so the second this goes down, you have to go after her,” Cora said. 

“You’ve been talking to Vic?” he asked, sitting up, they grey haze drifting away as Cora gave him the barest explanation. 

“I’ve been talking to all of them, Vic found Kilda. She’s been looking for Nemain all this time. Derek, she’s the one who was hunting Nemain to begin with, but Nemain never knew. She’s coming, she’s meeting us in Nova Scotia, you have to be ready, we can't talk about this again. Just watch me, pay attention okay?” Cora was worried, her voice was pitched and pleading. 

Derek nodded, trying to wrap his head around everything Cora told him. He wanted to ask questions while they were still alone, but the noises of the train kept him from being able to tell the difference between the people walking down the hall past their cabin. Any of them could be Nemain. 

Vic had been missing for two days, he had to find her, but Cora wasn’t sure where she was. That was his goal. He trusted Cora, he watched her flip the pages of her magazine slowly. looking every bit the same as she had this whole time. She was a phenomenal liar. He had to stay the same, just like Cora, he couldn't tip off Nemain by acting different than he had been these last few days. He hunched down in his corner, the same way he had been before Nemain left. They rode the train to the end of the line and checked into the hotel. He stood silently, kept his eyes lowered, fixed on the ground as he kept a sharp eye on Cora. 

Cora never broke character, she smiled and doted on Nemain, asking her questions and telling her stories about the family, sometimes things that never happened, just to keep her entertained. They went shopping and ate at the restaurant attached to the hotel, then they went to their suite for the night. 

“I’m ordering room service, do you want anything?” Cora asked, hours later. 

He shook his head, leaving it at that. The chair closest the window was his chair everywhere they stayed. It kept him near Cora, but far enough away he could relive all the painful memories in peace. But this time he wasn’t thinking about how he was betrayed, he was thinking about how Stiles made plans. How Stiles always figured things out, he saw patterns other people didn't see, used logic no one but Stiles could possibly understand. Not until you took the time to listen to the genius hidden under the hypervigilance. 

Somehow, there was hope Stiles had been behind this plan all along, and it might be a good one, but hope was a hard thing to live with. It made the possibility that you were wrong, hurt that much more. The view of the city below them shimmered and as his eyes filled with the symptom of hope. He was thankful at least that hope looked like grief from the outside. They wouldn’t think it was odd when he wiped his face or rubbed his eyes, trying to pretend he didn’t feel anything. This time he didn’t brush the wetness from his cheeks, he let himself feel it, if the pain meant he still had hope, it was worth it. 

A knock sounded at the door, he moved to answer when Cora stepped into his line of sight. She was across the suite, in the other room. Cora shook her head and backed away into the room she had come from. He leaned over, his elbows on his knees, wiping his face with the back of his hands when the knock came again, louder this time. 

“Cora, your food is here,” Nemain called out, rushing to the door. She turned to look at him, wondering why he wasn’t answering, then glanced away uncomfortably when she saw his red eyes. 

Nemain opened the door, revealing a tall blonde woman. Her hair was twisted over her head in a thick braid. Her smile was a long, laughing, red slash across her face. Nemain gasped and stepped back, the tall woman laughed and grinned like she was excited to surprise Nemain. He hoped it would be quick, that she wouldn’t drag it out, or make them follow Nemain all over the world before cornering her in a dark hole and leaving her there to rot. Though, the thought of a long torture curled the corner of his mouth, just a little. 

“Banlaoch, Kilda!,” Nemain exclaimed and reached out for the tall woman. 

A loud clap like thunder burst from the doorway, glass flew around him as the window shattered, and the wind howled. The cold, miserable, perpetual rain of Nova Scotia drenched him as he struggled to get to his feet. 

Kilda held Nemain effortlessly, her large hands wrapped around Nemain’s neck, holding her face still. Nemain struggled, hands clawing wildly against Kilda’s arms as she took back all the power Nemain had stolen. Throwing her head back, Nemain's mouth stretched in a pain grimace, threatening to scream in a final effort to defend herself. Kilda brought her face down, covering Nemain’s mouth with her own. She absorbed all of the destructive energy, even the sound of the banshee’s scream. 

Nemain finally went limp in Kilda’s hands, signaling the end of the struggle, for now. The crushing pressure that held him in his chair vanished. Cora rushed out of the other room, ready to go with their bags in tow. She shouted for him to follow Kilda. They ran down the hallway, Nemain swaying back and forth as she hung over Kilda’s shoulder like a trophy. Downstairs, outside the service entrance, a long black car waited for them. Kilda dumped Nemain into the front seat awkwardly, and they drove away, a dark glass wall between them and whoever was strong enough to be trusted with Nemain, and brave enough to take them far away from this place. 

“Is she okay up there? I mean is the driver --” 

“Don’t worry Derek, my driver is very good at what he does. He is someone Nemain has no sway over. I am Kilda Cahan, it’s good to finally meet you both.” Kilda held a hand out to him. 

He was hesitant, the power she consumed so easily was devastating and unstable, but she seemed unaffected. The tall, lanky way she moved, her warm smile and easy manner reminded him of Vic. Cora watched him expectantly, so he shook Kilda's hand and introduced himself like a civilized person. 

“I’ve been talking to Kilda through text message for a while now. We orchestrated this whole thing through texts because Nemain never learned they existed,” Cora explained what she had done, it was a huge gamble.

“Where is Vic, and how do I get to her?” Derek asked, he could listen to how this went down, once he understood what his part was. 

“The last I heard she was headed to the Calaveras compound. Hal says she left for a few minutes once they set up in Santa Ana, just to pick up food and never came back,” Cora said. 

“Why the fuck would she go there?” 

“She said she had business, after she found out where Kilda was and set everything up, she said she had to make a short detour, but she would meet us here. That was almost three days ago. Hal hasn’t heard from her either. He’s went to the compound yesterday. He says she’s there, but they say they haven’t seen her.” 

“She’s there.” 

The kind of people the Calaveras were, not having any idea why Vic went there to begin with, he didn’t see an immediate solution to the situation besides breaking in and strong arming her out. As far as the Calaveras were concerned, Vic was a hunter that didn’t live by the code, she was nothing more than an animal to them. If the Calaveras had hurt her, or killed her, he would burn the place where it stood and murder anyone who came out. 

“Derek, I have a note for you, it’s from a close friend of mine,” Kilda handed him a folded up letter. “It might help you find your friend, or it could be complete nonsense, it’s always a shot in the dark with her.” 

Derek shoved the note in his pocket as Cora relayed instructions and sent the plane tickets she had already purchased to his phone. 

“You’re not going with me?” he asked, afraid of her answer. 

“No, I have to stay with Nemain if we want this to work,” Cora said. “Also, I would be shot on sight anywhere near Calaveras people or territory. They know me.” 

“You can't go with these people, you know nothing about them, we don't know them,” Derek sat forward in his seat, ready to fight his way out with Cora in tow if he had to. 

“Derek, everything we know about Nemain is only what we’ve seen, and that's such a small part of the story. She’s nearly indestructible, and if we do kill her, theres a distinct possibility she could come back more powerful than before, we have to fix this so it stays fixed,” Cora explained. “You have to trust me.” 

“I do trust you, but tell me how, and why?” Derek asked. 

“Nemain was corrupted by power, child. With so much at one's disposal, it is inevitable, but we didn't know that when our world was young.” Kilda smiled easily, her expression bore no strain or frantic anxiety like Cora’s did, and his too, if it looked how he felt. “There is in incantation that will reverse a persons mind and body. For it to work, and be permanent, blood of the beloved must be sacrificed everyday for the duration of the incantation. Either you or your sister has to be there for it to hold, or you risk Nemain rising again and seeking you out.” 

“Blood magic?” Derek asked, suddenly more terrified to be making deals with these people, than he ever was with Nemain. What Peter had done to him almost killed him, he couldn’t let Cora do the same voluntarily, not for Nemain. 

“Derek, please. You know it’s the only thing permanent. This isn’t going to work on willpower alone. The first time she wants something bad enough or calls on her anchor, all our work will unravel. For this to work it has to be one of us. I don't know if I can rescue Vic, but I know you can.” What Cora said was true, even Kilda looked at him with concern and reassurance, understanding his fear of such visceral magic. 

He had to trust Cora, he couldn’t fight with her about it, not when so much was at stake. 

“We’ll talk everyday, I promise. Patrick is already there, waiting for me. He says everyone is wonderful, and the island is beautiful.” Cora assured him. 

“What island?” Derek asked. 

“Saint Kilda,” Kilda said, smiling. 

“Derek, we’re almost there, you have to run to catch your flight. I love you,” Cora said, coming over to his seat to hug him and kiss him goodbye. “I love you Derek, I don't want to leave you. I want you to be safe.” 

“I’m so sorry Cora, I’m sorry I’ve been so out of it that I didn’t notice you doing all these things, I could have helped more,” he said against her cheek. 

“Stiles did this to save us, to save you, don't be angry with him,” Cora said as Kilda opened the door in front of the airport terminal. 

“Where are you going? When will I talk to you again?” Derek asked. 

“We’re going by boat. I’ll send you video messages so you can see okay? Don’t worry, please,” Cora said, pushing him out the door. “You have to run Derek. Go! You’ll land in New York in two hours, we’ll talk then,” Cora waved to him and pulled the door shut, leaving him on the sidewalk in the pouring rain, with more questions than answers. 

He turned and ran, like Cora told him to, hiking his bag over his shoulder as he burst through the front doors of the airport. Minutes later he was in line to board the commuter plane to New York. When he landed he checked his phone, a message from Cora waited for him, as promised. She showed him the boat, which looked suspiciously like a yacht, and she said she loved him, then she told him to read the letter, and call her afterward. 

The letter in his pocket was damp from the rain. He unfolded it, reading the long elegant script that flowed over the pages. It confirmed many things he already suspected, but then told him he had to go to his mother for answers, and explained how. He picked up his phone and dialed Peter. 

“Hello, Derek? Where have you been, and why haven't you been returning my calls?” 

“Go to the vault, get the long cylindrical container inside the safe, with the triskele on the top. Don't try to open it, it will kill you if you try. Meet me in Santa Ana, at the place we went to when we did that thing with that stripper that one time.” 

“You -- she was nice -- You have to tell me why, I’m not going to run to Mexico because you tell me to --” 

“Peter, meet me there in one day, or I’ll hunt you down and kill you.” Derek hung up the phone, hoping Peter believed his threat, mostly because it was true, and he still needed Peter for a few things. 

A day later he was standing at the bar in Santa Ana, but Peter was no where to be found. His scent was all over the bar, including some of the rooms upstairs reserved for special patrons only. He followed Peter’s scent to the front door of the Calaveras compound. First he was going to find Vic, then he was going to kill Peter. 

In the dead of night, when the club was at it’s loudest, he climbed through a neighbor's window into the alley behind the club. He snuck his way in through the trash elevator near the back door, where Vic’s scent was strongest, right under the guards noses. He was taking a chance because her scent could have easily been in the trash, maybe even to throw him off, but it was all he had. The scent of Vic’s blood got stronger as he made his way down the long empty hall, his fear and rage built with every step. He convinced himself she was still alive, that she could lose a lot of blood without dying, almost as much as he could. 

A tapping noise caught his attention as he searched for her heart beat, or an impression of her somewhere in the huge building. He listened closely, sure he knew the pattern. It was ‘Dance Dance by Fall Out Boy’ Laura’s favorite song, and it was coming from directly below him. Not only was Vic still alive, she was holding out hope he was coming for her, she would take anyone, he was sure, but she was reaching out for him. 

Incapacitating the hunter outside the room she was being held in was the easiest part so far. He was young and inexperienced. They were counting on no one being able to make it this far. He took the keys off the guard and tapped a bit of the song back to her, so she didn’t kill him when he opened the door. Immediately her face filled the small, dirty window and he had her out. She was pale and covered with burn marks and bruises. He smelled blood, but he couldn’t tell where she had been cut. 

“They’re changing guards soon, we need to go,” Vic held her right arm, the shoulder distorted at an odd angle. 

Derek grabbed it quickly and pushed it back into place before she could say no, Vic swore at him in languages he never knew she spoke, then she bent down to take the guns and ammunition off the guard. Thats when he saw the long, ugly slashes across her back. Her tank top was thick with matted blood. He took the shirt off the guard and they made a dash for the outside door. 

They took out both of the guards in seconds. He ran back in and held the door open just enough so they could speak. She lunged for him, just missing the door. Immediately she was swearing at him again, hitting the door hard with her fist. 

“Why?” she asked her lip trembling with anger and confusion. 

“Peter is in there somewhere.” 

“Don’t, not for Peter.” 

“No for him, for what he’s got with him.” 

“Is it that important?” Vic asked, pleading silently for him to say no, to leave with her and never come back. 

“Yes.” 

“What if you don't come out?” Vic asked. 

“That’s a stupid question, mount up and come get me if I’m not out in a couple hours.” 

“I might not be able to.” Vic wrapped her fingers around the door, fishing them through the crack he held open. 

“Then send someone, you have more money than god. Hire the army.” 

He pushed the shirt into her hand, she wrapped her fingers around his tightly, holding on to that last bitter thread of hope. He let go and Vic nodded, her eyes glassy and defeated as he shut the door. He ran back down the long hallway, searching for Peter’s scent. 

Two hours later he was tied to a chainlink fence being electrocuted next to Peter. 

“Why did you go into the bar Peter? Why couldn’t you have met me outside?” he shouted through clenched teeth. 

“Who knew she would still be there?” Peter smiled over at him, somehow still pleased with himself as he was staring death by torture right in the face. 

He was going to kill Peter. 

*** 

“Fucking Hales, and the mother fucking trouble they -- I can’t even -- I’m going to kick his sorry ass all over Mexico the second I get him out,” Vic muttered to herself, unwilling to let the sounds of fighting and glass breaking in the house next door deter her truly magnificent plans. “Yes, I can hotwire a fucking Cadillac, a brand new Caddy no less. I’m a mother fucking rocket scientist!” 

She would kill for a 1963 chevy right now. She continued to motivate herself through the most frustrating parts of dismantling the steering column by swearing and muttering like an insane person. 

Leaning over to get a better look at the underside of the steering column she caught a glint of shiny metal near the windshield of the car. She reached up and pulled on a small, inconspicuous compartment in front of the reading lights, meant for stashing things like earbuds and toll change. Keys fell out onto the floor. 

“Oh thank you, Jesus fucking christ, thank you for the blessings of the truly stupid assholes of the world.” 

Vic turned the car over and backed out of the alleyway with the headlights off. Stealing some asshole hunters ride was the highlight of her day, besides the whole being saved by Blue Eyes thing. She hoped it was the motherfucker who hit her with the cattle prod, then threatened her with a chainsaw. He dressed like someone who drove a Caddy. 

About twenty minutes out of Santa Ana she saw a small market still open. She pulled in and searched the car, finding a cell phone, and a handful of change in the console. Thankfully the phone was charged enough to make a call. She walked into the market, cautiously keeping an eye out for anyone that might be a hunter, or affiliated. 

“No, no Calaveras here, out!” A small man with a scowl threatened her with a broom. 

“Hey, hey buddy, I hate those bitches too,” Vic said, holding up her hands. 

Fast, incomprehensible shouting in spanish assaulted her as a smaller woman came out from behind the counter. 

“No habla espanol,” Vic waved her hands. 

“Calaveras Cadillac, you lady friend, out!” the woman shouted at her accusingly. 

“Oh, no. I fucking stole it from a piece of shit. Here, take it.” Vic took the tiny LED flashlight off the key ring and dropped it over the handle of the broom. 

The small dude stared at the keys as they hit his fingers, confused. 

“Chop shop? Desguace clandestino?” Of course all the words she knew in spanish were criminal activities and swear words. She pointed to the keys and smiled, nodding her head encouragingly. 

“You want us to find you a chop shop gringa?” the woman accused her again, speaking clear english. 

“No, and thanks for the lesson in intercultural dickery. I stole it. I hate the fucker, you keep it, take it to a chop shop, yeah? Comprende?” Vic said. “All I need is a little information and I’ll disappear forever. How far away is the closest building or tourist spot that’s closed right now? I don’t care what, as long as you can see it from the road.” 

“There’s an old, empty mission a mile north of here, right along the main road,” the woman said, suddenly helpful and curious. 

“I’m going to take this.” Vic picked up a gallon of water. “And a few other things, you never saw me. I was never here. Get rid of that car the second I’m gone okay?” 

The woman nodded, agreeing to the very one sided exchange. Vic grabbed a bag of beef jerky, a pair of sandals, and a bottle of tequila then got the fuck out. She followed the phones signal strength to a patch of scrub brush far away from road, behind the market, and dialed the last number she had for Hal. 

“Hello?” Hal answered immediately. 

“I’m twenty minutes south of Santa Ana on the 15, are you still in town?” 

“Yes. I’m ready to go.” 

“I’ll be at an old mission, if you get to the bodega with the star on the sign, you missed me. Killing the phone.” 

The phone cracked easily in her hands, the flip phones were the easiest to break. She crushed it with her heel, just to be sure, and threw it as far as she could into the scrub brush. She took off running through the dusty brush, just far enough from the road to not be seen immediately. She found the mission exactly where the shop lady said it would be. No one was around, but it smelled like piss all over, so she sat down near a giant cactus and waited for Hal. 

When he pulled up in an open top Jeep she hid just out of view, not knowing for sure it was him until he got out and stood up. No one was as big as Hal. She ran over to him, letting him pick her up as he wrapped his giant arms around her. 

“I tried to come get you. I was waiting for the calvary. How did you get out?” Hal asked. 

“Derek. I heard you when you busted in there. You did good getting out in one piece when it got sketchy. Who did you call?” she asked. 

“Braeden was closest, but she’s still a few hours away.” 

“Yeah, she’ll do. Call her and tell her not to mention our names, Peter and Derek are down there, they need extracting.” 

“Whose name should she use? She won't tell them anything unless we’re specific about the details.” 

“Deucalion.” 

Hal studied her face, confused and alarmed by the sudden, insidious name drop. 

“It has to be someone Peter won’t go looking for, who might feel like they owe Derek something.” 

“How do you know this shit?” Hal asked, taking the bottle of tequila from under her arm. “And how do you sneak out of a high security compound with a bottle of tequila?” 

“Oh, I traded a Caddy for that,” Vic said. 

“A car? A Cadillac car?” Hal asked, following her to the passenger side and helping her into the seat. 

He lifted her shirt and checked her ribs when she groaned getting into her seat, large purple bruises dotted her torso and arms. Burn marks from the cattle prods were going to leave scars across her chest. She didn’t want to think about her back, or what Hal might say when he saw it. None of it mattered, she told them nothing about Cora, and Derek wouldn’t either. She hoped Braeden got them out before Peter squealed like a pig. 

“Spring break, this year, we come back and burn them to the ground?” she suggested. 

Hal smiled, agreeing wholeheartedly as he put the Jeep in gear and pulled into the road.


	14. We've Done Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As if Stiles was the only one of them with decades of baggage and a deep seated need to prove himself. Stiles had changed, he knew exactly what he wanted, and when it was time to take it. Even if he panicked at the last second like an asshole still.

He wasn’t sure what he expected when he got back to Beacon Hills, but his loft had the scent of the twins all over it, and Scott’s blood. Things continued to move without him there. 

Whatever imminently threatened wasn’t his problem, not until after he spoke to his mother. Answers weren’t guaranteed, but he had to try at least, before he saw Stiles, Scott, or Isaac. Derek wasn’t sure if he was going to stay, or go back to Cora. He had hope that speaking to his mother would define his direction, help him figure out a sense of purpose. He needed something more than waiting for the next fight. 

Talking to his mother changed his perspective drastically. He was meant to stay, to help the Alpha protect Beacon Hills. When she told him the territory was special, that it held power that many would seek to exploit if there wasn’t a pack here to protect it, he finally understood that was the point all along. None of it was a symptom or a side effect of the bad choices he made. Beacon Hills, and the chaos it created, was there long before him. Being there, choosing to protect it, meant accepting certain truths. 

_”You are not meant for an ordinary requisition of love. No one who struggles with death and courage the way you do, should ever expect to limit themselves the way the safe and mundane do. Look to love as a fuel. It is the center of your vitality, not anger. It will motivate you, but you will not own it, not until you choose to distance yourself from protecting this place.”_

Derek missed the easy wisdom his mother dispensed, the unwavering and confident way she pulled everything into perspective. There was more than just bitter hope and a fierce desire to protect motivating him now. Someday he could pass on the fight. Someday he wouldn’t be needed as much as he was needed now. He had a future to look forward to. He had a long life ahead of him, and that changed everything. The world moved slower, he had more time to react, more time to think. Understanding that freed him in a ways he never expected. 

A few days after speaking to his mother he came home and found the scent of Stiles all over his loft. It was spiked with anxiety and pain, an internal struggle that he didn't understand. Derek followed his movements through the loft, almost like an orchestrated dance, reliving the most important things that happened between them in this place. It ended on his bed, where Stiles slept for some time. He sent Stiles a text message telling him to call or come over. Stiles knew he was back in town, he was the only person Derek told. Stiles didn’t have to keep his distance. 

Stiles wrote him back in the middle of the night, telling him to stay away, he was closing the door. It should have felt like rejection, denial, but the words were too flowery. Stiles was literal and forthright, the words didn’t make sense in a literal way. He didn’t sleep that night trying to figure out what it could mean, but he still gave Stiles the distance he asked for. That part he understood.

When Aiden accused Stiles of being the nogitsune it all fell into place. He worked tirelessly looking for Stiles, dismantling all of the traps and sabotage he could find, which honestly wasn’t much. Eventually the nogitsune figured out Derek was looking, he was more careful, started making bigger plans. He stayed one step ahead until finally, he cornered the thing riding Stiles body all over town, in the basement of the high school. 

“Derek Hale, finally caught up, or maybe I let you catch me?” The fox narrowed Stiles’ eyes, hoping Derek would see it as a challenge. 

“You can’t stay in him forever,” Derek said. 

“No, but I can stay in him long enough to fuck things up in this town. Stir up shit until I’m nice and full, then maybe I’ll jump your bones and head to Mexico. I hear you have friends down there,” the fox smiled a twisted, wry grin. “Oh, Stiles does not like that. You know he’s in here screaming right now, just losing his mother fucking mind. He wants you to run Derek, but you aren’t going to do that are you?” 

“No, I’m not,” Derek said quietly. 

“That’s the best news I’ve heard all day buddy, really.”

“You could take me, I would let you,” Derek said it because he meant every quiet, unheroic word. He couldn’t stand to watch Stiles suffer. It would be better to be the villain, and die in his place. 

“Oh, that is so precious,” the fox laughed at him, like he was a joke. “Why would I do that, when I can stay in here, and fuck with you endlessly? Nothing in the world causes you as much pain as this kid, but you keep coming back like some sort of broken, beaten dog. And Stiles? He’s even worse than you. He is terrified of you, but still... You’d think after the first few apocalyptic, life changing events you guys would learn, but no. It’s fucking beautiful, the greatest tragedy Beacon Hills has ever known is the love between a boy and his dog.”

Derek bristled as the fox’s words scratched deep. He kept his eyes low, his heartbeat steady, but the fox knew everything Stiles knew. It knew how to open old wounds. 

“You are the best meal I have ever had, and it’s about to get so much better. You wanna know how?” the fox leaned against the lockers and grinned, pleased with itself. 

“No,” Derek said, wishing he could make himself attack it, or justify running somehow, just to get it to stop talking. The fox lied and twisted it’s way through every word, until it began to tell the truth, because the truth was worse than any lie it could think up

“I tried to get Stiles to go after Peter, but his visceral reaction was complete repulsion. It’s hard to work with that -- you understand -- but his visceral reaction to Malia wasn’t repulsion at all. Beautiful, new, shiny Malia. Your cousin, by way of Peter, in case you didn't know. I figure if I can’t completely destroy any desire you have for him by letting Peter have a go, I’ll see if his kid can pull it off instead. Try, try again.” the fox was giddy with power and the reaction Derek was giving him, even though he was trying his best to control himself. 

“I’ve dragged his psyche so deep through everything about her, I don't have anything left to do, except sit back and wait for the hormones to jump start. I think she makes so much more sense than you do, and she already wants him back. She isn’t going to make life exponentially more difficult than it has to be, like some people we know. Stiles understands, it’s inevitable, and he cares a whole lot more about breaking her wild little heart, than yours, because he’s so afraid she’ll turn out like Peter if he isn’t there to protect her. He doesn’t think you’d be any help in that department. So, you’ll suffer, and you’ll stay away, because if you don’t? When the bitch comes around looking for some -- and she certainly will -- I’ll kill her.” 

Derek flinched at the threat, the fox wouldn’t just kill her, it would make her suffer. Malia was a surprise player, someone he didn’t know at all. She could be a bluff, or she could be exactly what the fox said she was. He looked at the floor for a moment, unsure of what to do or say next, then the fox was gone. 

The nogitsune proved how much power he had in knowledge alone, forcing Derek to work with other people, and through them, cutting off the nogitsune’s direct line to his pain and conflict. It lashed out at him repeatedly, putting the spotlight on his actions and motivations. It hoped to expose whatever it could in the middle of the the stress and panic, but Derek never took the bait. Somehow, he kept his priorities in line and protected Beacon Hills first and foremost, Stiles right along with it. 

Along the way he made a friend in Chris Argent. Against all odds, he won Chris’s loyalty. Chris proved his when Derek needed it most. It hurt when Allison died. He never imagined he could mourn an Argent as deeply as he mourned Allison. They all mourned, but no one felt it like Stiles did, not even Lydia. 

Derek went to him when it was all over, when Stiles was himself again, certain he would still be awake in the middle of the night. Bright lights poured out of the house at two in the morning, like someone inside was afraid of the dark. He climbed in the window, not caring who saw him. Stiles sat at the end of his bed, hunched over with his elbows on his knees. Derek waited a long moment, but Stiles didn’t acknowledge he was there. Derek said his name, then put a hand on his shoulder when he still got no response. Stiles pulled back, flinching like it hurt, then glanced up at the security camera still hanging from the corner of his room. 

The camera was still there because Stiles wanted it there. He hadn’t left his room since everyone else went home, leaving him on his own. He could imagine Stiles insisting he was fine. Telling everyone, even his dad, to go get rest, even though he was terrified to be by himself. The camera was a prison of accountability, because Stiles didn’t know how to trust himself again. It would only get worse if he let anyone debate it. No one else understood this like he did. 

Derek crushed the camera in his hand, letting the broken pieces fall to the floor as Stiles watched. “You’re okay now, you don't need that.” 

Derek understood why no one else was willing to say it, but Stiles needed to hear it. 

“Why are you here?” Stiles asked, working hard to control his voice and expression. 

“I came because you need me,” Derek said, not saying the rest of it, how he needed to be sure Stiles could be okay someday. 

“Allison is dead,” Stiles said, like it was an explanation.

The pain in Stiles voice hurt him, like someone was squeezing his lungs tight from the inside, but there was hope because he said it outloud. Stiles understood why, that meant he would survive it. The crushing guilt, the process of understanding what he had been a part of, would leave him raw and broken for a long time. It was still a part of Derek’s life, it still dictated much of who he was, but he was learning to look past it. Stiles would too, someday. 

The bed creaked as Stiles moved across it, pushing himself into the corner against the wall. Derek sat down on the floor in front of the bed, in minutes Stiles was sound asleep. He came again the next night, ready to stand guard. The Sheriff opened the door to check on Stiles. He saw Stiles fast asleep, while Derek read a book on the floor. He quietly nodded to Derek, the only acknowledgement he ever got of the Sheriff’s appreciation, it was far more than he expected. He went every night, until one night, Malia was there before him. 

It wasn’t what he wanted, but they were friends. They protected each other and took care of one another when they could, because it was the best they could do. The nogitsune was right about one thing, when they were together, bad things got much worse. They were each others weakness, one that was exploited more often than not through the years, even when they weren’t together. It was never as bad as Julia or the nogitsune though, maybe because the distance helped them stay focused.

Everyday he missed Stiles. He tried to tell himself it was over, that fate, destiny, and whatever shitty job the universe dumped on you, were still a choice. They had both chosen to be friends, and that was enough for fate. His dreams and memories didn’t agree, and neither did he. The truth was, he could wait, if it meant someday would be forever. It was just easier to lie to himself, because hope was an awful, terrible thing. 

***

“Welcome home soldier,” an older woman said to him as he walked down the long hallway to the airport terminal. 

Stiles nodded and smiled, even though he wasn’t a soldier. He got comments like that all the time, all the Corp Cadet graduates did. He didn’t think it was strange anymore. Danny used to say it was like they went through a meat grinder and came out the other side perfectly pressed into the shape of a jar heads. As much as Danny pretended he hated it, he was still wearing the buzzcut even though he didn't have to anymore. 

His dad sent him a text during the flight. He couldn’t make it, so he was sending a friend to pick him from the airport. His dad was probably scrambling to find someone, even though the shuttle service ran every hour. Stiles sighed, Scott would be phenomenally late, but it could be any one of a dozen deputies. He was about to ask who, but he figured he would know them when he saw them.

The baggage claim was packed as he searched for his black suitcase amongst a hundred black suitcases. He wondered for a minute why he didn't do like Lydia did, and tie an ugly scarf to the handle. His dad always came to visit him. He had only been home a handful of times in the last four years, it hadn’t pissed him off enough to bother with. 

Finally, he saw his bag coming around the corner when a large hand reached out and picked it up. 

“Hey! hey, buddy! That’s my bag,” Stiles called out to the big, dark haired man holding his suitcase. 

The man looked up, smiling, and very familiar. 

“Derek, jesus, my dad sent you to get me?” 

Stiles shook his outstretched hand, then hugged him warmly. He missed Derek all the time, he was aware of the giant stupid grin on his face, but he didn't care, Derek looked amazing. 

“You don't look any different than when I saw you last year,” Stiles said. 

“I know, I’m boring, I should buy some new clothes or something,” Derek said, laughing. 

“No, I meant you look good.” 

“Thanks, you do too,” Derek said, nodding toward the exits, still carrying his bag. 

On the way to the car they decided to go to the diner to wait for his dad to get off work. He was starving, and he wanted to hang out with Derek a little more, before everyone else descended upon him for the inevitable welcome home celebrations. 

“I’m surprised you aren’t walking in the graduation ceremony. The Texas A&M graduation is pretty spectacular I hear. I honestly thought your dad would guilt you into it somehow,” Derek said as they drove down the freeway, getting close to Beacon Hills. 

New construction was everywhere, there were even warning signs for it heading toward downtown. Beacon Hills was changing, for the better surprisingly. 

“I didn't want to wait another two weeks to start work. Three years in the department, then I’m applying to the bureau, that’s the plan,” Stiles said, relieved the hardest part was over. 

“Two weeks made a big difference in that plan?” Derek laughed, not expecting an answer. 

“Did you finish building that house you were working on last year?” Stiles asked. 

“Yeah, and I moved in, you should come by and see it some time.” 

“We can go now, if it has air conditioning?” Stiles didn’t want to eat diner food and stuff himself into a tiny booth, not if he had a better option.

“Are you sure?” Derek asked. 

“Yeah, the diner was just the first thing that came to mind. I don't want to go home yet. Scott might be there already, waiting to descend on me with booze and a crazy plan like last time. I really just want a minute to decompress, and I wanna see this house finished. The drunken tour we took around the wood frame last year probably didn't do it justice.” 

Derek smiled, shaking his head at the memories they made that night. The shit Scott said alone was was worthy of the record books. Instead of following the freeway downtown, they turned onto the county highway exit, heading to a parcel of land close to the avocado orchard, if he remembered right. It was no where near the old Hale house, which surprised Stiles. After Derek bought the land back from the county everyone assumed he would do something with it, but it was still empty and growing over the last time he was home. 

Careful and creative landscaping followed the long gravel driveway all the way up to the long, ranch style house. It was obvious Derek spent a lot of time working on it. Nothing about the property or the house was at all what he expected. Derek pointed out the unfinished projects, almost like he was apologizing for the mess when there was none. Stiles noticed a small greenhouse at the far end of the side yard, just before they went in to get something to eat. The idea of Derek gardening almost made him laugh out loud. 

Inside was even more charming. Every corner, every nook and cranny was finished in a unique way. The unpretentious, earthy art and decor reminded him of Texas. Stiles picked up a driftwood sculpture of a sleek, fierce looking wolf, knowing immediately who made it, and who the wolf was. Derek handed him a beer and pointed at the sculpture. 

“Vic retired,” Derek said, not sharing any other details, because he didn’t need it spelled out. 

“It’s beautiful,” he said, turning it over again before setting it down. “How do you have time to do all this? I’m assuming you did it all yourself like you swore you were going to?” 

“Yeah, I did. I was going to bring that up actually, since the ban of silence has been lifted.” 

Derek meant Scott’s rule that no one tell him about the things happening in Beacon Hills, because it was difficult to stay away when he knew. In the beginning they would sometimes call for help. Every time, all he wanted was come home. It was the hardest choice he had to make about going away to school, but it taught him he could trust them to do it on their own. 

“Oh, yeah, I guess you better give me the run down if I’m starting my job as a redshirt next week.” Stiles laughed, even though Derek probably wouldn't get the reference. He wasn’t that much of a nerd. “What big bad is breathing down our necks this week?” 

After so many years in the trenches, military college sounded like a break, until he was reminded assholes came in all different species, especially human. He hadn't given much thought to what he might come home to, he could take on whatever this place threw at him. Fighting the good fight was the reason he joined the Sheriff’s department, and why he chose law enforcement as a career. There were too many people falling through the cracks in a broken system, and too many people who didn't believe what was right in front of them. 

“I’m sorry, I’ve been thinking about telling you this for a while, and now I have the chance, I just don’t know how,” Derek said, shaking his head. 

“Jesus is it that bad?” 

“No, god dammit, I’m fucking this up so bad,” Derek scowled at himself, but smiled and let out a little exasperated sigh. “It’s nothing. Nothing has happened around here for a while.” 

“Really?” Stiles asked, surprised. 

“Yeah, come into the kitchen and I’ll explain, we can watch this pizza and make sure I don't burn it,” Derek suggested. 

Stiles took a seat at the long breakfast bar as Derek got out plates and napkins, all the things adult, civilized people used to eat things like pizza. He had almost forgotten what that was like, living with college kids. 

“You remember when Kate came back and you guys had to drag me out of Mexico through Calaveras country?” Derek asked. 

“Yeah, baby Derek is something I will never forget,” Stiles laughed. “Dio mio!” 

“Yeah,” Derek chuckled, a little embarrassed. “Well, the thing Kate did to me, making me young? Cora found someone to do that for Nemain, we all call her Neva now. It took years to finish because she was so old, but they knew what they were doing, so it stuck. She knows who she used to be, and she has all her old power, but as far as she’s concerned she’s a twenty three year old woman, and Cora is her best friend.” 

“Really? Wow. That was one spectacular train wreck. She really came through fixing that one didn’t she?” . 

“You have no idea, she’s an Alpha now,” Derek said, pride making him smile as he spoke. 

“Oh, my god, the tiniest Alpha.” Stiles always admired Cora, he missed her just as much as anyone in Beacon Hills. 

“That honor went to Laura, but Cora comes in a close second. She comes by pretty often now, they travel around a lot. They stopped here first though when they started their world tour, Neva replanted the nematon where our old house used to be. She brought the ley lines back into balance, and all the supernatural chaos just drifted away.” Derek laid out the pizza on the counter, letting it sit for a moment before he cut into it. 

“That’s kind of amazing, make sure she knows I’m around. I want to see her next time she’s in town. But really, nothing happens anymore? I might just have to forgive Nemain if she pulled that off,” Stiles said. 

“Shit comes through occasionally, just like it always did before the nematon was cut down. Beacon Hills still needs protection, but it’s easier, nothing like it was before,” Derek explained. “The Sheriff’s department is really excited to get you, you know that right?” 

“Jesus, I never hear the end of it. Every time I talk to my dad he’s going on about some other story they were telling about the old days, before the deputies knew about all this shit and we were the only ones taking care of it. I’m just surprised my dad didn't say anything about the decline in activity. You’d think that was good news worth sharing.” 

“Your dad was the biggest proponent of the gag order. He always figured out a way to slip a reminder into the conversation every time I saw him. I think he was just as worried you would give up on your degree and come home if you thought everything was okay,” Derek explained. 

“No way, the world is a lot bigger than Beacon Hills, and fortunately I happen to know exactly what I was put on this great big earth to do.” Stiles smiled, not realizing he had taken a tentative step into unspoken territory until the words were already out of his mouth. 

He said that all the time, but most people assumed he was being hyperbolic, Derek knew differently. There was no time like the present to feel out that old territory though, he had changed a lot, and obviously Derek and Beacon Hills had as well. 

“How has Malia been?” Stiles asked, needing to feel out that situation more than wanting to, but it had to be done first. 

“She’s around, still with Scott and Kira. Sometimes I find her sleeping on my couch or in the chair next to my bed. I still haven’t figured out how she gets in,” Derek said. 

“Oh, I know that feeling well,” Stiles said, pressing his lips together tightly. “I haven’t talked to her, not since she saw me last year for two whole seconds, when we stopped at Rosa’s for pie before bar hopping.” 

“Do you want to see her?” Derek asked, giving away mildly curiosity, nothing more. 

“No, I’m glad it’s over to be honest. You remember how upset she was when I left. I know you get it but no one knew what to do with her until Scott stepped up. I mean, she wasn’t really a coyote, she was a girl, she just didn't know how to reconcile that. I got in the way more than anything else,” Stiles tried to explain, still not knowing how after all these years. 

“She knows she’s a girl now, thankfully. There’s been someone new in her life nearly every time I talked to her. I mean, it’s off and on. Sometimes she says she prefers to be alone still, but ever since Peter died she’s been better. Like someone flipped a switch in her head telling her it was okay to just calm the fuck down and live an awesome life.” Derek smiled, glancing up at him, then back down at the beer cap he was flattening in his fingers absently. 

“That’s --,” Stiles let out a long breath. “That makes me feel a lot better.” 

Derek gave the counter a subtle scowl, his eyes only half open. He glanced up at Stiles’ hands as they absently played with his empty beer bottle and scowled in earnest. Seeing that expression brought Stiles back to the old days. He wanted to know what was so interesting about his hands spinning an empty beer bottle around, or if Derek was staring, and thinking of something else. 

“You want another one?” Derek asked, getting up and opening the refrigerator without waiting for an answer. 

Derek didn’t look at him when he asked. Everything about the way Derek moved and spoke wasn’t the easy, happy guy who picked him up. He was tense, and guarded. It happened so fast, but Stiles knew him so well he could pin-point the moment it happened. This always went to the same place every time he came home and saw Derek. That halfway place where it was good to be around him and be his freind, but not good enough. Stiles was tired of it, tired of watching it, and tired of accepting it. He was always a willing participant because he didn’t have a better plan, but now none of the old rules had to apply anymore. Derek would welcome something new, or something old and familiar with a new purpose, Stiles was sure of it. 

Stiles followed him into the kitchen, waiting on the other side of the refrigerator door for what seemed like much longer than it should take to find a beer. Derek knew he was standing there, he always knew. The door closed slowly and Derek met his eyes. His jaw was clenched tight, and he didn’t have a beer in his hand. The weak smile he gave Stiles showed an abundance of self restraint, something he used to be grateful for. 

“I missed you,” Stiles said. 

Tightness caught his throat as the words actually came out. He wasn’t sure they would, until they did. Suddenly he wondered if it was the right thing to do, or if he was falling into an old life before giving a new one a chance. But there was no taking back the words back, or his reaction. Derek didn't say anything, his eyes searched Stiles face like he didn’t believe what he was hearing and seeing. In a flash of movement, like a dam bursting free, Derek’s arms were wrapped around his chest, his fingers gripping tight against his back. Stiles laughed, a small sound of relief that made Derek hold him tighter. 

Everything about this was the same as he remembered. It wasn’t a mistake, it was what he had been waiting for. The feel of Derek in his arms, the scent of his skin. The stubble against his neck. Even the consistently repressed desire for affection bursting out the moment Derek was certain he wouldn’t be rejected. Stiles promised himself they would work on that, as often as possible, until Derek took being loved for granted just like normal people did. He wasn’t sure if it was possible, but he was willing to try. 

Eventually, Derek pulled back, keeping his arms around Stiles, but loosening his grip a little. Stiles hung his hands around the back of Derek’s neck, noticing how easy Derek’s face moved to smile, the tiny laugh lines around his eyes that were slowly gaining on the well worn scowl lines. Stiles leaned in, intending to take it slow, just a quick peck on the lips, but a moment later Derek was kissing him like it was the first time, maybe the only time he would ever get the chance to do it. Stiles surprised himself with the noises he made, how quickly he fell apart as the wet, slickness built up between their lips. 

Derek broke away, breathing slowly like he was trying to keep hold of himself. Stiles kissed his cheek, resting his face against Derek’s. He moved his fingers through the back of Derek’s hair, reminding himself how good the silky black softness felt under his fingers. Derek’s lips brushed against his cheek lightly, his arms tightened, pulling Stiles closer. 

“Are you sure? Don't you think you need some time here, alone?” Derek said, still thinking about Stiles first. 

As if Stiles was the only one of them with decades of baggage and a deep seated need to prove himself. Stiles had changed, he knew exactly what he wanted, and when it was time to take it. Even if he panicked at the last second like an asshole still. 

“Don’t be that guy, just take the win,” Stiles said quietly. 

Derek kissed him again, but this time his lips were soft, and smiling. They kissed slowly, carefully because they had all the time in the world.


End file.
